


Stress Relief

by Fanlan



Series: Of Sinful Souls in Heaven and the Saintly in Hell [1]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Abusive Relationships, Aziraphale Whump (Good Omens), Beating, Crowley will comfort him later, Don't worry, Gas Lighting, Hurt Aziraphale (Good Omens), Just dark stuff, M/M, PTSD, Protective Crowley, Rape, Rape Recovery, Self Harm, Whump, and hurt comfort, just gotta break his angel first, so much abuse to Aziraphale, wanted to make something dark
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-29
Updated: 2019-12-30
Packaged: 2020-07-24 20:53:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 38
Words: 103,619
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20020855
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fanlan/pseuds/Fanlan
Summary: Gabriel likes to use Aziraphale to work out pent out frustration and anger, often leaving the Principality bloody, bruised and psychologically scarred.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> A short prologue and then next chapter will be graphic. You are warned.

In the grand scheme of things, Aziraphale wasn’t that old. 

Compared to mortal beings whose species wasn’t that old in the entire grand scheme of the ineffable plan, he was ancient. An old god who walked among them since the beginning, the very beginning starting with the garden. A being who would understand their world and history better then they would ever be able to grasp.

Compared to the other angels who had helped weave cosmos and design worlds humans were very unlikely to see with their limited scopes on creativity and intelligence, the older angels had seen the great fraction of their species and lived through the civil war that created the fallen angel; Aziraphale was like an infant to them. 

A little brother who often didn’t know any better and spent far too much time around a species that was not his own. It was very easy for him to fall out of step, fall out of sync with the well-oiled hierarchy that was pulling the ineffable plan along. 

Aziraphale had been created with the garden with a very specific purpose from the almighty: to watch over and guide the humans.  


He had been mucking up basic assignments since the beginning as well and Gabriel had an entire file cabinet filled with proof of that. He was supposed to keep the humans from eating the forbidden fruit and taking on free will, but instead he had been preoccupied weaving flowers together.  


He fell into the temptations of the world faster then man if you asked Gabriel, always taking in and giving far too much attention to what he saw as ‘beauty’.  


The almighty didn’t make mistakes though and despite all his faults, he had yet to be cast from the ranks by head office. No matter how many memos Gabriel called for his fall, he never did, each well documented account of Aziraphale’s failures being returned to him with a large red ‘DENIED’ stamped across it.  


He raised this query to Sandalphon one beautiful morning (it was heaven, naturally all mornings were beautiful) and he gave him an interesting response he had never considered before.  


“Maybe he was created less for the human’s sakes and more for our own.” 

Gabriel gave him a look, not catching his meaning, it was tiresome dealing with their youngest angel, he often just left him to his own devices so he didn’t have to deal with him. He was the first ever angel they had to put a track on what miracles he made, Aziraphale was soft, not allowing the mortals do anything for themselves if he had the chance and wasn’t afraid to waste energy on material junk on himself either. 

“Think about it,” Sandalphon pressed leaning back into the comfy office chair and drumming his fingers playfully on Gabriel’s desk, “All the work we must do to keep order, not only on Earth but the Cosmos and not to mention keeping the demons down stairs in check.” 

There was a pause and a slight chuckle from Gabriel as he leaned forward, curios where his friend could be going. 

“The war has been at a stalemate for what?” 

“Thousands of years.” 

“Thousands of years of pent up frustration and anger, it just makes you want to… what was that Earth phrase Aziraphale put on his ‘naughty list’?” 

“Go ape shit?” 

The other angel chuckled, “There you go. That’s it. Very clever.” 

“So you’re saying we take our pent up emotions on the weak link in our chain?” 

Gabriel paused considering a moment. 

“That wouldn’t make us too... demonly would it?” 

“The beauty of it is its helping Aziraphale as well, put the fear of god back into him about why he should shape up and give us an excuse to ‘let loose' as the mortals say.” 

Gabriel smiled, it was a tempting offer. You wouldn’t exactly get away with such behavior in heaven, but on Earth? Performing such acts on an angel who didn’t quite fit into what an angel should be? What was the harm?


	2. 1862

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some rape and torture in this chapter

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am finally going on! thanks for the patience! Here's two chapters for the price of one

It was easy to say Aziraphale was stupid or too slow witted to ever notice his fellow angels looked down upon him.

That was far from the truth, Aziraphale knew. He knew very well that Gabriel despised visiting him on Earth, he knew well Michael might secretly wish somehow, the demons would take care of the problem that was Aziraphale. He knew they all thought with vigor he would fall and fall soon and maybe it would be for the best to bare themselves the annoyance of dealing with his incompetence.

It was depressing that Aziraphale almost (read: almost) preferred the company of a lowly demon then his own kind. He knew the demon Craw- Crowley- was merely tempting him for his own nefarious deeds but Aziraphale wasn’t so incompetent he was about to fall completely for his tricks.

Aziraphale sighed as he cleaned up his shop, he used to almost prefer the company of a demon then his own kind he corrected himself. He doubted Crowley would want anything to do with him after he refused to give him his suicide pill or murder weapon, whatever you wished to call it.

He didn’t care what Crowley thought, you just couldn’t do that. It wasn’t proper for one thing plotting to kill your own kind or maybe even worse, yourself. You don’t throw in the towel and just surrender like that! You keep your head up and pray for the best, keep moving forward.

And to ask him! To ask his supposed friend to do such a thing, risking getting caught if it was found out a demon got his hands-on holy water somehow. The only angel currently residing in Europe was Aziraphale, angels weren’t like demons, they didn’t have flocks of them gathered around one location!

He was considering ways to get his fellow angels to if not like him, maybe respect him a little more then they did now when he heard the doorbell ring announcing a customer in his shop. He set down his book, he hadn’t been reading as much hiding his fretting behind thick pages but still the familiar annoyance settled into his stomach. He had always considered running a book shop would draw in well read and polite and highly intelligent people to him to discuss his favorite tomes with but more often then not he drew the kind of lot only Crowley would consider a blessing coming through his door. It wasn’t a ‘easy job’ for Aziraphale dealing with rude and nasty men who only wanted to know if he sold pornography.

“Oh, Gabriel,” he gasped out stopping near a shelf of books near the back, not sure what to make of a surprise visit like this from not only one of his superiors but two. He didn’t know Sandalphon as well as he did Gabriel, he had met him once in Sodom and well, he was a little afraid of him if he was honest. He was very quick to smite anyone he felt deserved it.

“Aziraphale,” Gabriel greeted in the normal way he did, a pleasant smile painted over his irritation. He seemed more relaxed then normal, shoulders less strained and his eyes not on Aziraphale’s clock. He almost seemed like he wanted to be here for once and it brought a gentle smile out of Aziraphale. He admired Gabriel a lot, he had been his superior since the day he was created and he hoped one day they could be close. He hoped one day Gabriel would want to visit him just to visit, maybe he was starting to feel more welcome.

“Please take us somewhere a little more private so we may discuss things.” 

Aziraphale nodded, smiling pleasantly and directed his head towards the back room. His superiors didn’t pay him much mind as they stepped past him into the room he had previously been preoccupied with a book in. He turned to join them in the room when he felt Sandalphon stop him, pressing his hand firmly against his chest and staring up into in his eyes in a way that made Aziraphale stiffen a little.

“And lock up the shop, don’t need any mortals interrupting our business.”

Aziraphale nodded, it was best not to question why that would be the case, but he couldn’t help the nervous jitters that ran down his corporal form. He did as he was told, snapping his fingers and the shutters were down, darkening the room and leaving only the eerie cracks of the afternoon light to flick across books, lighting up the gold pages of the first editions.

The doors were locked, it would have been unlikely he would have gotten any customers today anyway. It was unlikely he would see customers for quite some time after this, stepping back into his back room he began to get a harsh feeling he would rather be dealing with customers right now then with his fellow angels. He might not have known Sandalphon that well, but he had only seen that look on his face once and it was when the almighty had allowed him to smite the wicked. It had been quite sometime since She had been that cruel, She was leaning towards a kinder hand with the humans after the birth of Her one true son.

“Should I prepare some tea?”

Aziraphale had yet to sit upon entering the room and was more anxious to see that the other angels had failed to do that as well. He fidgeted with his hands and strained his smile to stay in place and not let his anxiety out.

Sandalphon raised his eyebrow towards Gabriel and Gabriel firmly shook his head, he had never been a fan of mortal pleasures. Aziraphale might have spent too much time among the humans and knew he shouldn’t feel worried about this, angels didn’t need to eat, just because the demon Crowley drank tea with him and ate whatever he had lying around, didn’t mean his superiors would.

He forced his smile to brighten, maybe to what some would consider disturbing and firmly washed all thoughts of Crowley from his head. He didn’t need Crowley and Crowley didn’t need him. In fact, it was better they would likely never talk to one another again. He needed to get better acquainted with his fellow angels.

“This isn’t a social visit, Aziraphale,” Gabriel said a smile on his face but it was off? Aziraphale didn’t feel love behind it like he knew he should but he had never been able to sense love from his fellow angels like he did the mortals or even Crowley at times. It was possible they were just good at keeping themselves hidden though, he had never been able to sense Gabriel’s presence near him like he would a lower level demon or mortal…

“This is to talk about your very lackluster performance as a principality.”

They didn’t invite him to do so and probably discouraged it but Aziraphale felt himself collapsing into his favorite chair, unable to meet either of the other angels’ eyes. He knew his work wasn’t the best and well sometimes it wasn’t even him, it was a demon, but he tried hard to make do with what he could.

“They are calling for your fall from grace.”

Aziraphale felt his eyes half pop from his skull at the very notion he could fall, he didn’t need to breath, but still felt his corporal human form shoving his heart and lungs into over drive. He trembled hard and tried to force a defense for himself out, any excuse would do, if he had a thought it would be better to say it and make all this right.

All that came out were panicked breaths.

“It hasn’t been decided yet, of course but you must have known this was coming. Surely you should have anticipated this, your last miracle to solve a problem was to tempt a man into solicitating with a prostitute to keep him from murdering a sinful man.”

Aziraphale didn’t recall that at all but oh god, that sounded like something Crowley would have done and passed it off in his name.

“A novelist known for debatery whose soul is already going down no less. You risked your own livelihood to save an individual like that.”

Oh no, that had been him, he thought breathing harder. The young poet at the Gentleman Club, the one who danced with him all night, the one who had nearly been stabbed by a stilted ex-lover. He had just pushed him off to dance with another young man, oh lord, he didn’t know that poor young lad was a prostitute. 

“He lives in my neighborhood,” he finally breathed out, “He is so kind, I didn’t want him to die like that. I just strongly encouraged the other man not to stab him. I didn’t think—”

“That is the problem, ain’t it?” Sandalphon finally broke in, “You don’t think. You just assume all mortals have good intentions. Just like in Sodom.”

Aziraphale cringed hard and clamped his eyes shut to not meet their eyes at mention of Sodom, that had been very embarrassing on his part and he would rather not relive it.

“Ya thought they were worth saving, that they had kindness in their hearts and when you tried to reason with them, it nearly lost you yer virtue and if I hadn’t been there to smite the city, ya would have let them do it, wouldn’t you?”

Aziraphale had been very drunk that night and let one man kiss him and after all this time it was still being turned around like something more would have happened.

“I would never bed with a mortal,” he said firmly raising his head up.

“I’m not so sure sunshine,” Gabriel said almost casually, “You haven’t been shying away from any of the other major sins.”

Aziraphale couldn’t make eye contact, he was shaking and just letting the fear be known, he didn’t care anymore. He was more then just terrified, he would rather die then fall. Leaving Heaven’s light might not have been a big deal to Crowley but to Aziraphale, he just didn’t know if he could make it without it. Without Her light brightening his essence.

“Is there anything I could do to stop that from…”

He couldn’t even finish his sentence nor could he raise his eyes to stare at the other angels, if he had he would have caught their evil grins towards each other. Not very angelic smiles at all, more akin to what he would have thought the princes of Hell would look like.

\---

Aziraphale knew he had agreed to this, he knew it had to be done, sometimes pain was the only way to show Her you were truly sorry. He had been slapped on the wrist one too many times and he knew it.

While yes, She had been kinder in punishment these days, no more smiting the mortals or drowning the world when they displeased her, that didn’t mean it applied to him. Gabriel had always just overlooked his incompetence in the past, not seeming to have the time or effort for this, forgiveness through blood had died out after the rebellion he had heard. It was an old ritual even among celestials.

Aziraphale had never witnessed it before but he had heard Michael lamenting it fell out of practice once when he was called into her office after the apple tree incident. She had even threatened to do it, binding his hands in golden cuffs like they were now bound to the ceiling making him have to stand on his tip toes to keep his balance and giving him a lashing for each flower he had woven and gave his attention to instead of his duty.

Uriel had told him it fell out of practice due to it being a reason Lucifer was able to sway so many onto his side. At the time he had felt grateful his only punishment was being scolded and yelled at by Michael.

Now he was wishing she had made do on her threat, it would have only been ten lashes. Gabriel wanted a bit more.

“One for each warning I sent you, but you didn’t really listen to.”

Gabriel said it in such a casual, almost singsong way, it was almost like they were just discussing how he might improve and not about to bleed for his transgressions. About to have his mistakes seared in his back so he wouldn’t forget them in the future.

That was making Michael’s threatened ten seem like a piece of cake compared to the oh god…what was it, thirty? Maybe more? He lost track of all the stern warnings he had gotten.

“Since its your first offense, we’ll say twenty.”

How casual Gabriel was being about this was making his stomach turn violently. He glanced behind him at Gabriel settling at his seat at his desk while Sandalphon summoned a whip. It would have been stunning to look at on any other occasion, it was almost gold and had a beautifully carved handle that felt heavenly and closing his eyes Aziraphale could almost feel her radiance coming from it. It wasn’t her loving light though, it was her wrath, something he had never personally felt from her.

He braced himself but he would never truly be able to take something like this again. Tears fell the second the whip hit his back and the skin broke.

\---

He wasn’t allowed to miracle away the damage nor was he allowed to miracle himself out of the restraints. He was to hang and bleed like freshly cut meat until Gabriel decided the punishment was done, until his superiors decided he was forgiven for his many transgressions and put in a good word for him to Her.

That was how it worked, you bleed for your forgiveness, you show the almighty you are willing to go through unspeakable pain for Her.

It was a misconception that angels were any more likely to see her then mortals. It had been six thousand years since she had last said a word to anyone in Heaven. The last time Aziraphale had heard her voice he had lied to her and he sometimes feared he was the reason she no longer wished to talk to anyone but the Mettaton on occasion.

Uriel had been certain it didn’t work and it only got you to think traitorous thoughts, that’s why this form of forgiveness wasn’t practiced anymore.

Being lashed twenty times with a holy whip that struck deeper then just his corporal form, the blood would dry up eventually on its own. He wasn’t mortal, even without a miracle he would eventually heal just fine, maybe the scars would even disappear if he was lucky.

They would however, never disappear on his true form, they would forever be there anyone would be able to see he had sinned and wronged God (so sinful he might have fallen from grace). That was part of the punishment, everyone in Heaven would know how shameful you acted to need her forgiveness to begin with.

Aziraphale found himself mumbling small prayers until his voice finally gave out and only gasped, dry breaths came from his mouth.

“Alright sunshine, you are forgiven,” Gabriel almost cooed as he snapped his fingers and let Aziraphale drop to the ground in a lump of unmoving soft flesh and fresh blood and torn clothing he would never get the stains out of.

“But.”

There was a pause that sent a long shiver down Aziraphale’s spine.

“But?”

Aziraphale’s voice was practically nonexistent, it was rough and scratchy from screaming during the beating from Sandalphon. It was rough and course and dry from mumbling prayers without rest for…days? Hours? Only the lord knew how long.

“I do worry about how you have a strange lust for the humans, I think we should work on that together.”

Aziraphale was trying to process what he meant by that, he could be a bit of a flirt or a tease with the humans when he danced at his favorite club but he had never gone further then that nor did he have a deep desire to. 

He opened his mouth to deny the allocation when he was silenced by Gabriel forcing his tongue into his mouth.

He gently pushed at his chest, silently begging him not to. He had been forgiven for his constant misgivings as an angel, right? Why was he still doing this to him?

“Shh,” Gabriel cooed softly running his fingers through his sweat soaked hair, “This isn’t a punishment. Wanting that is alright but you can’t do it with humans, that’s improper, Aziraphale.”

Aziraphale wanted so badly to tell him no but he just couldn’t find his voice, only ragged gasps and low whimpers came from his mouth.

“I’m just helping you get it off your mind and don’t deny it, I know about your little love letters you keep in your drawer.”

Aziraphale couldn’t help the blush, yes, he liked to pen poets some…questionable letters. Crowley once found them and found them funny, thinking the arrangement had turned him into a natural tempter.

Aziraphale would give anything for Crowley to be here now and his stomach twisted with disgust. He would rather be in the company of a demon who leading him to sin with humans then his superior who was trying to make him better. He felt tears gathering in his eyes, he didn’t want to fall.

Gabriel wasn’t gentle as he yanked his tattered and bloody cloths from his body, he cringed a little as his favorite pants were ruined with blood and his shirt was torn to shreds by the whip and Gabriel man handling it off him.

Just take it and it will be done and you will be forgiven he told himself.

“This is your first time?”

Aziraphale made a noise but it wasn’t a confirmation or denial and definitely wasn’t consent as Gabriel ran his fingers over his sexless form. 

He pressed hard between his legs making Aziraphale buckle at the foreign sensation of his sex being chosen for him by his superior. Gabriel had helped design the corporal forms, he would know all the little tricks to get them to do what he wanted instead of the person they belonged to.

Aziraphale felt wrong, so wrong when he realized Gabriel had given him a vagina. He had never presented himself as female and never thought of himself as such. It felt wrong.

That feeling of wrong just managed to grow as Gabriel forced his fingers into him making him cry out at the pain, his wounded back hitting the ground making him see stars. He blacked out for a moment.

He came back to feeling like he was cast out to see, something violently rocking into hard and fast.

This wasn’t how he wanted his first time, he didn’t want this at all. If he was going to do this, he wanted it to be with someone he loved. It was so selfish to think that he knew, angels were supposed to give love not receive it, but that’s what he wanted so badly.

He tried to convince himself Gabriel was helping him. Gabriel did love him if he was willing to sully himself like this just for him. He didn’t know if even he bought those lies though.

“Thank you for behaving yourself and letting me help you,” Gabriel whispered in his ear as he came one last time inside him while Aziraphale quivered underneath him, “We’ll try to keep this at a monthly basis to help you more in the future but I need to get back to work now.”

The kiss felt more like a slap in the face then an act of endearment.

Aziraphale just laid there unable to move, he considered a century long nap like Crowley had once done but he had to keep proving himself if he didn’t want to be cast into hell. He would never survive there.


	3. 1967

“It’s just, odd, is all.”

Aziraphale nodded showing he was still listening to the young man next to him, but had yet to turn to look him in the eyes. He was gnawing nervously at his lip, staring up at the church’s stain glass windows. He felt a flutter of nerves stream through his veins staring at the beautiful depiction of the archangel Gabriel on the glass. He was smiling down at him, not leering, nothing cruel about that smile. Not domineering in the slightest. Not anything as it had been…last night or the last hundred years.

It was warm and full of Her light. Aziraphale felt sick to his stomach, he hated the very idea of questioning his superiors as he had been doing. It was wrong of him to think anything they did didn’t have reason…didn’t have purpose…

“That much money and I’m not talking pocket change here, Mr. Fell, nah, Mr. Crowley is offering a hefty sum for holy water of all things.”

Aziraphale forced himself back in the present looking away from Gabriel’s warm and deceiving smile and lolled his head back towards the young gentleman next to him. It was very impolite of him to let his mind wander like that, he was the one who invited the young man here.

“My local church may not be as fancy and upper class as this one right ‘ere ‘e wants to rob, but pastors offer that stuff willingly and usually for free. Holy or not, it’s just water, ain’t it?”

“I suppose it is,” Aziraphale said using his words wisely, best not to scare the young man by telling him that was a demon who might be planning on killing another demon, “In a sense. I’ve been looking for Mr. Crowley for many years and I doubt its merely ‘water’ as you say that he wants.” 

“I’m sorry I’m so far off, my dear,” he said fully addressing the young man next to him and giving him a sincere look trying to express his apology, “Mr. Crowley is a dear friend of mine and I am afraid he is getting himself into trouble with this.”

He passed the young man a large sack and the boy peeked into before gasping out, sputtering on his own spittle he tried his hardest to choke back at his surprise.

“I have been sitting on these doubloons for many years, I feel they would be more useful to you and your mother they would be for me.”

He placed a gentle hand on the boy’s shoulder and gave him a bright smile as he patted him on the shoulder.

“Please stay away from those men for now on, Johnny, your mother loves you and you have a wonderful head on your shoulder, you don’t need to turn to the darkness for help anymore.”

He patted Johnny on the leg gently before rising from his seat on the pew and walking down the aisle towards the large Eagle statue that held the Holy Water Crowley wanted so desperately. Behind him the young man continued to stare at him agape and stutter out his complaints about him giving him this small fortune for just a little bit of information, a rumor really.

“Mr. Fell, really, this is worth more then even yer Crowley was offering—”

Aziraphale hummed a little but didn’t say anything more to the boy, edging his finger across the feathers of the statue and staring into his own reflection in the water, haloed by the afternoon light shining through the stained glass.

A church was supposed to make you feel closer to god but Aziraphale, a devout servant of the almighty herself, felt a little closer to hell. Maybe not the devil himself but one of his lower level lackies. He closed his eyes taking a deep breath and remembered Crowley bursting through these very doors, while London was falling apart around them and burning himself just to save Aziraphale from an embarrassing death.

“A little demonic miracle of my own,” those words were woven into the very fabric of his being, he held those words close and found his mind repeating them at his lowest moments. The heavy feel of books being thrust into his hands and the ache and yearning settling into his soul as Crowley had proven he could be selfless. There was goodness somewhere in his black heart.

Some days when staring into Gabriel’s eyes, sneering for him to behave himself or he would have to be rougher as he forced himself into him over and over, he wondered if Gabriel had goodness in his soul as well. He must, he was still an angel, he still resided in heaven, maybe it was Aziraphale who truly brought that blackness out of him. Maybe he really did deserve this punishment, he shouldn’t question it.

;

Not too long ago, the last time Gabriel had come for a visit (Aziraphale was sad to admit his relief that he didn’t have as much time for their ‘lessons’). Aziraphale had been lost in his little hopes and desires that maybe a demon could feel love. Aziraphale made something feel love and not absolute hatred. He could make someone feel uplifted to do good and not drag them down with his incompetence to make them act like—he didn’t feel comfortable describing his betters in a negative light.

“You have been such a good boy recently,” Gabriel had said with that smile that offered anything but warmth and kindness. He had a knack of sensing when something was on Aziraphale’s mind. He sat in the chair Aziraphale had mentally associated with Crowley, that chair he always sat in when they drank together, that chair he always sat in to stew in his own frustrations when a miracle didn’t go as planned. The chair he always found him sleeping off a hangover in.

He pushed Crowley from his mind, this wasn’t about him or he tempted him, it was about Gabriel. He swallowed hard, it should always be about his fellow angels first and foremost.

Gabriel patted his thigh gently, but Aziraphale knew it wasn’t an invite, it was a demand he obeyed. He took a deep breath and willed himself a little lighter, knowing that’s what Gabriel wanted, knowing he liked it when he lost his softness when they had intimate moments.

Aziraphale couldn’t help how stiff he was as he sank into Gabriel’s lap and let his boss possessively pull him close, nipping at his ear, almost playfully.

“Speak what’s on your mind.”

“I don’t wish to be burden you,” he whispered averting his eyes from the hands unbuttoning his cloths. Averting the hunger burning in Gabriel’s eyes, what a strange thought, someone who hated food as much as Gabriel looking so starved.

“You have been so good lately,” he whispered into his ear once more, hungrily taking a nibble on the lobe, “I’m feeling generous.”

Aziraphale took a deep breath in and let out the small plea for him to stop hurting him go unsaid and instead asked something else.

“There was a church I was rather fond of…” he tested and when Gabriel didn’t stop him, he went on, “It was destroyed in the Blitz. I was hoping to maybe miracle it back the way it was now that they are rebuilding---”

“I’ll do you one better, sunshine,” he said stopping Aziraphale and grabbing his chin firmly and forcing him to look him in the eyes, “I’ll fix your little church but you have to do something for me first.”

Aziraphale knew better then to argue, rising up enough to kneel on the floor, letting Gabriel bunch his fingers tight in his hair and guide his head to his crotch. He took a deep breath as his superior’s cloths magically disappeared and his lips were inches from his already hard penis.

He knelt before Gabriel, worshipping him with his mouth, on his knees and letting each deep suck and each stroke of the tongue be a prayer for mercy. He held back the tears until Gabriel came in his mouth and let out a deep rumbled moan of approval, he felt Gabriel force him back on the ground, straddling on top of his much thinner than he preferred corporal body.

With a blink, his cloths were gone and Gabriel was biting into his hip making him squirm as he drew blood. He lapped the blood with his tongue and moaned again as he became hard once more at the sight of Aziraphale.

He forced entrance into him, taking his price for his charitable gift he would make just for him.

;

“Mr. Fell?”

He jumped and instantly dropped his hand away from the statue as if he was burned feeling the hand touch his shoulder. He took a deep breath and reminded himself it was just Johnny, the nice young boy who told him what Crowley was up to. The nice young man who was always falling into trouble and Aziraphale was helping him personally, even if it came with the selfish price of finding the demon he was fraternizing with.

“Are you ok?”

He didn’t answer but just nodded firmly, glancing up towards the stain glass of the angel he knew very intimately. He was an archangel, he should have expected him to make his own touch on the old church. Tainting Aziraphale’s pleasant memory slightly with his eyes now watching him from above, always watching him.

Just a little demonic miracle of my own, he heard Crowley echo in his mind and felt himself calming. Brushing his fingers across the holy water, another of Gabriel’s touches.

Sentimentality was far from the reason Crowley chose this church to break into.

There was a bit of a misconception when it came to holy water. Most would assume any priest could create it, any holy man could create the only weapon to destroy a demon permanently.

In this day and age, it was rare to come across a man that attune to heaven and god to get a blessing strong enough to make true holy water, the holiest of the holiest of water. Going to any other church would just be stealing normal water just as Johnny had assumed. Aziraphale knew Crowley was smart enough to know that too or he would have gotten his holy water by now, his plan b as he said. His precaution and his easy way out if everything went ‘pear up’.

He must have his own sources as Aziraphale did, his own ears around London that would have told him this church had been blessed by Gabriel and the water currently dripping off Aziraphale’s fingertips was just the weapon he needed.

Now maybe you could say Aziraphale was protecting Crowley not wanting him robbing from a church under the surveillance of his superior. Gabriel would destroy Crowley with a flick of the wrist, not breaking a single sweat if he even stepped foot into a church he had miracle back into being.

Maybe you could even argue he was protecting himself, what Gabriel and Sandalphon did to him now was bad, if they found out he was a traitor willingly interacting with a demon…

Aziraphale would likely never know freedom again. He would be cast into hell without a second thought and he would never know anything but torture ever again. An eternity without even God’s light to warm him.

Truthfully, the mere thought of Crowley holding Gabriel’s blessed water, something dripping quite literally with Gabriel’s grace, made his stomach turn.

Just a little demonic miracle of my own, his mind echoed again and he held onto the thought like his last lifeline to sanity, the last time he had felt truly loved.

He wanted to return that love.

\---

Aziraphale knew it was a risky decision to bring Crowley the holy water, his heart was pounding in his chest just thinking of what Gabriel would do if he found out.

“He won’t find out,” he mumbled firmly tightening his grip on the thermos, in the hundred- and five-years Gabriel had started his new…administration, he had yet to catch on about Crowley. 

Maybe he was hanging it over Aziraphale’s head, maybe he was just waiting for him to admit fault as Sandalphon had made him do that first night this all began. Maybe it was a little demonic miracle that kept Crowley from Heaven’s sight, Aziraphale didn’t know. It wasn’t his place to question Heaven, that lead to…

He glanced down at the pavement as he reached Crowley’s Bentley. He stared at the ground and leaned up against the car trying in vain to get his breathing under control. He wasn’t happy with the way Gabriel treated him, he didn’t like how Sandalphon thought it was necessary to man handle him in such a way, but he did like being an angel and standing for something he believed in. He believed he was doing good in this world. He just wanted to be a good angel and sometimes that meant not questioning these things. Sometimes faith needed to be tested.

He miracled his way into the locked car to escape the loud roars of traffic and drunk on lookers who were already starting to jeer at his distress. He needed to get a better grip on himself, this wasn’t about him, this was about keeping Crowley safe. He couldn’t bear the thought of Gabriel killing his only friend, the only person he selfishly loved.

He glanced over and finally saw Crowley and he had to swallow his anxiety and keep himself from doing something stupid. He took in the young man next to him, he knew him, he was the man who had been harassing Johnny and trying to indoctrinate him into his little gang (some sort of army according to his mother, it was likely a cult). Fresh out of prison for a string of burglaries according to Johnny’s mother, she was a sweet woman who owned the bakery down the street from his shop. Johnny was all she had and Aziraphale did want to help them truly, it just got a little more personal when he found out Crowley was involved in this. He had only met this man once, he had called him a ‘southern pansy’ and shoved him harshly away from the door of the bakery knocking the lovely baked goods he ordered onto the ground. A rude man who needed to learn manners if you asked Aziraphale, he would let Crowley have this one.

“What are you doing here?”

Crowley didn’t demand an answer and Aziraphale knew he wouldn’t strike him if he didn’t answer, but he jumped a little anyway. He didn’t completely know how to answer him, so much had changed in his life since the last time he had talked about holy water with Crowley. So much had changed in his life since that night at the church.

A little demonic miracle of my own…

He didn’t know if words would come out of his mouth, he just stared at Crowley. Twenty years, it wasn’t a long time to an immortal but after Gabriel started coming to him once a week and every little move became a test, he had just missed him. The only piece of Crowley he had been carrying were those words repeating in his head keeping him from breaking. Keeping him from falling.

“I don’t have time for this, Angel---”

“You do,” Aziraphale cut him off firmly, taking a deep breath and straightening his shoulders to tell Crowley he was serious.

“Do I?”

Crowley was smiling, almost affectionately. Aziraphale’s heart beat faster, he had missed him too.

“You don’t need to do your heist,” he finally managed to get out, his words much stronger then he felt. With shaking hands he shoved the thermos into Crowley’s hands and watched him turn a questioning stare at him.

“Please don’t open it,” he said gently keeping his hands on the thermos and inching them closer to Crowley’s long, spindly fingers and gently touching them together, “Take my word, it’s the holiest.”

“What changed your mind?”

“I couldn’t bear the thought of losing you,” he whispered becoming bold and moving a hand to caress Crowley’s face, running a thumb gently across his jawline and even bolder, tracing his lips.

It was pathetic on his part, but somedays he would pretend Gabriel was Crowley. Instead of forcing him into sexual acts, he would pretend it was like this. Crowley allowing him to tenderly touch him but not forcing him to rush into things, placing his hand on top of Aziraphale’s as he traced his lower lip with his thumb and held it tight. He couldn’t help the smile as Crowley pulled his hand away from his face, giving it a gentle kiss before pushing it out of the way so he could capture the angel’s lips.

Aziraphale’s lips quivered slightly as Crowley deepened the kiss, pushing him back into the passenger seat as he reached over, pushing him hard against the seat and ---

He immediately pulled back feeling the angel’s racing pulse and the choked sob breaking from his lips, once the tears started they didn’t stop. Aziraphale wanted so badly to jump from forced encounters like this right into being tenderly loved, selfishly loved by another. Selfishly loved by a demon, beings who might not even feel love, only lust. Aziraphale might not even be able to admit love now that he was thinking about it, he had turned Gabriel into that and now he was doing this to Crowley.

“Let me take you home,” Crowley said trying to keep his voice even but Aziraphale knew, he was upset. Aziraphale had just shut down his emotions to let Gabriel take as he wanted, he didn’t understand why he wasn’t doing it for Crowley.

“We don’t have to stop,” he finally managed to gasp out, wiping fiercely at his tears, just wanting them to stop. He had thought nothing but this since 1941 and he was being a coward now that he had the chance.

“I won’t rush you, angel, let’s not go too fast,” gently he picked Aziraphale’s hand up and gave it a squeeze.

Aziraphale tried to tell him he should take those words to heart about his driving but without any warning, he was shooting into the streets of London at record speed.


	4. The 1970s P1: Crowley's thoughts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley's perspective on things.

Something was off about Aziraphale.

Crowley found himself laughing as he extinguished his fifth cigarette, now there was an understatement. He lit up another and poured himself a drink, drumming his fingers on his marble counter.

In 1865, Aziraphale had haughtily told him he didn’t need him and he would be damned before he committed treason ‘fraternizing’ with the opposition and giving him holy water. In 1967, Aziraphale changed his tune. He had changed more then that, it wasn’t just playing another melody, he was playing from a different instrument all together. He practically begged Crowley to take his holy water and even offered his body as some sort of peace offering.

Crowley knew he could come off as thick sometimes but Aziraphale was as dense as they came when it came to his emotions, he couldn’t have known how fantasized about that heavenly body. How he could only pray to be allowed to worship it properly.

He had never stopped loving Aziraphale and never would, he tried to deny that love sure, but he would never stop. That’s how he found himself at that church in 1941, always ready to save his angel.

“I gave it away!” His mind echoed to him and it was only then he knew there was good in Heaven still, it wasn’t all tainted and wicked behind deceptive smiles, there was one good soul there.

Aziraphale was kindhearted, a bit naïve from the start, willing to give away an extension of himself and his only weapon just to help someone in need.

He had known Aziraphale since the beginning, since the garden and he had never seen him cry. Maybe look like he was about to, but he had always held in his emotions. He never would have expected him to just break after kissing someone…

It was very in character for Aziraphale to simply sweep something under the rug like that and for the past decade, he had been ignoring the fact that he had kissed Crowley and then broken-down crying when Crowley returned the kiss.

Everything else had almost fallen back into the steady routine they had been before their fight in St James in 1862.

Almost. It was like a picture of their old routine, burned at the edges by some tragedy Crowley hadn’t been present to, the picture was there but it was faded and unrecognizable unless it was looked at from the right angle. 

Aziraphale was Aziraphale. He still loved his books, he still loved to spend hours talking nonstop about something small and utterly inane he had read to Crowley’s willing and drunken ears. He still loved to sit upright on their bench in St James’s Park and prattle on about the affairs of humans, what’s his face from down the block who is being persistent about buying his Wilde collection and what’s her name who owns the bakery two blocks down and her son. Oh yes, the human names changed from year to year, but it was always about the same gist, they lived extremely mortal lives and their comfort and love drew in their very own Guardian Angel like a moth to the flame.

Food was still high on his list of favorite things. He loved to drag Crowley to Sushi which had become his favorite thing right next to Crepes during their little one hundred year spat. He made Crowley turn away in disgust more then once as he ate raw fish and hot chocolate together because of course Aziraphale would.

He loved love and loved to spread love. His love and passions were worn proudly on his sleeves, he loved the theater, he loved restaurants, he loved antique shops, he loved talking about mortals who loved while feeding ducks.

A new one for Crowley, he also loved Crowley in more then a genuine love for everything way, but they didn’t talk about that.

They didn’t discuss that because of that also very new quality to Aziraphale, the burns around his edges, the strange tint around the familiar picture that made him off. Crowley couldn’t even put his finger on what made him off, but he was off.

What was off was right in front of him and yet so out of reach and driving him utterly mad.

He missed the ash tray, his fallen ash scattering across his once pristine and clean counter as he absently flicked the cigarette, he leaned back in his bar stool glaring out the window as he lit his final cigarette from the pack. He didn’t like missing things, he didn’t like when the pieces didn’t magically fit together and he had to buckle down and figure it out himself.

;

It all began that night, it really started one hundred and five years before hand, but Crowley wasn’t sure if it had began began after their fight or maybe even after he had saved him from the Nazis. That was the last time he had seen Aziraphale, so it was really all up in the air when it started but Crowley didn’t know there was a problem to be worked out at all until that night in the car.

Aziraphale was stiff as a corpse as he drove him home, the speed limit had never mattered to him, but it should have mattered to the angel next to him. Him nearly hitting a young mother jay walking with her push chair should have mattered to him but he was too drained to notice. Sniffling back tears and staring dead eyed and crestfallen down at his own lap, lazily twiddling his thumbs.

“I’m not one to care about feelings or what have you…”

Crowley hated the words the moment they left his mouth, so he just shut up seeing he hadn’t broken through to the angel anyway. He continued to stare at his twiddling thumbs and scrape his teeth slowly across his bottom lip to keep unshed tears in.

They stayed awkwardly sitting in silence for only G-Sat- Someone knew how long. He had known Aziraphale six thousand damn years and he had yet to see him so…tense. So small and unsure of himself and his actions.

“Care to tempt me to a drink?”

Aziraphale turned to look at him for the first time and just stared at him with his sad eyes and dead smile.

“Better not.”

“Can I get a rain check on that drink?”

Aziraphale paused as he scooted his way out of the car and just stared at Crowley a moment, thinking on it a moment, the cogs in his head overheating from thinking too hard on this one tiny question.

“Next Monday, noon, I would like to try the new Sushi place downtown and would hate to go alone.”

Crowley gave him a smug smile and leaned forward, testing the water, seeing if a shy kiss would be pressed against his cheek. It was no loss when it didn’t happen. Nothing happened. Aziraphale got out of the car and left him there.

Crowley had always loved Aziraphale and had waited since Eden, whatever pace the angel wanted, he would take. If they were just friends despite the kiss, no loss, he had missed Aziraphale with every fiber of his being. 

The next day, Aziraphale fell back into their routine like it had never stopped.

The next week, he was calling Crowley daily.

The next month, he was rotating between calling him every other day.

By the end of the year, he was on eggshells around his friend, tensing at every shadow and jumping whenever his name was spoken.

Two years in a row he no longer allowed Crowley to touch him, tensing whenever he even attempted to do so.

Today, Crowley was chugging a bottle of wine and thinking of the odd occasions when the angel would just get lost in his own thoughts, not aware of anything around him. Sometimes it was just a moment to snap him back and other times it could take hours before he even noticed Crowley had entered his shop. Like earlier that afternoon when Crowley sat in the back room for three hours waiting for the angel to notice him as he just...stared at his book. It was terrifying when it happened and it only added to the strangeness that surrounded his dearest friend and what could have happened to make him like this. Like a skittish animal.

The big sign had been on Friday when he refused to eat the sushi Crowley bought for him.

Something was very wrong. Whether it be a melt down on Aziraphale’s part or if someone had touched him, Crowley didn’t know, and he needed to find out.

;

Crowley had taken a three-day nap to clear his head at his decade long predicament. If he hadn’t cracked the code in even an hour being around an angel who was just as open as his books, it would take a little tempting to get it out of him and luckily Crowley was a professional tempter.

He picked up the kitchen phone and easily dialed the number, leaning against the breakfast bar, staring out at the afternoon warm sun as the dial tone picked up and predictably the angel picked up half way through the second ring.

“A.Z Fell and Co—”

“Sorry,” Crowley cut off Aziraphale immediately, a devilish smile practically hearing that pout from the other end of the line, “Afraid I don’t need a book. I do, however, need the company of an angel.”

“I’m afraid you have the wrong shop for that,” Aziraphale haughtily grumbled, he had ruffled some feathers and he was living for it.

“Do I? Are you not Aziraphale, angel of the east Gat—”

“Not over the phone! Customers could hear!”

He could hear that blush and could see him shooting a pointed look to whatever poor soul who dared enter that shop.

“St James’s? An hour?”

“I am minding a shop, sir, this isn’t some pleasure line!”

“Ya know, I invented those? A pound a minute to become a muse to the desperate fool on the other line. That’s what you used to call it eh, angel? Being their ‘muse’ or was that only with Wilde?”

“I am hanging up this phone now, sir, I do not know you and I shall not stand here and listen to your foul mouth any longer. I shall not see you in an hour or anytime for I do not know you!”

Crowley wondered if Aziraphale even knew what subtly was at times or who he thought he was kidding.

“I’ll pick you up then, lunch?”

A deep snort before Aziraphale mumbled ‘sushi please’ before hanging up the phone.

;

Crowley watched Aziraphale as he bent down by the duck pond closely. Aziraphale’s cloths were hanging from him again, he had once more lost his softness leaving him in clothing that didn’t quite fit right. It would happen from time to time and Aziraphale would always be back to normal after a warm meal, eaten slowly so the angel could savor each bite.

Today, even after Sushi and two cones of ice cream, he still didn’t have his roundness. Crowley was debating telling him, but it was just strange. Aziraphale had always chosen to present himself on the pudgy side, it made him warmer, it made easier to approach. His soft personality and his soft body just went together well, he looked starved of that love he was usually popping at the seams with as is.

He watched Aziraphale telling the ducks proudly how he had switched from bread to seeds because bread bad for them. Crowley merely rolled his eyes, even when he was off, even when there was something Crowley was just missing, Aziraphale was Aziraphale.

He loved the ducks, he loved food and he loved feeding the stupid ducks.

He scratched at his mustache, he hated how itchy it got but he was willing for any discomfort for fashion. He took in the folds of cloths hanging from the angel as he got up, Aziraphale wasn’t one to change for the times. Mortals wanted to be slimmer, mortals bought into Famine’s traps, Aziraphale once pouted for ten years when his favorite dress shirt got a stain. Aziraphale hated altering his clothing or style in anyway telling Crowley he quite liked the rut he fell into.

Aziraphale still wore his 18th century suit from time to time looking like an actor preparing for his role in some Dickens play just because he had gotten a compliment once from Oscar Wilde wearing it.

Aziraphale didn’t drop pounds for a fad. He didn’t lose what he considered warmth and comfort just to make mortals happy.

He mulled over this as they drove, the book shop wasn’t that far away and Crowley expected Aziraphale to not let him in as he had taken to doing the last ten years, so he took a detour. He made the excuse of wanting to show Aziraphale his latest masterpiece, the M25 and though Aziraphale was annoyed, he didn’t seem too out put about the detour.

He was prattling on about what’s his face from down the way, he was in love with someone or other and Aziraphale couldn’t be more happy.

“Johnny is just such a sweet boy and I am so proud he turned his life around! He found someone he loves, did I tell you? A professor!”

He became quieter though, a frown settling on his face.

“I just don’t understand mortals though, Johnny loves another man and he can’t even say it. He was ashamed when he told his own mother but bless her heart, she was proud he was happy…”

Crowley nearly rear ended the Volkswagen in front of him as it came to an abrupt stop in the large traffic line. He just stared at Aziraphale’s wan face, it was so familiar yet different. It was paler than it ought to be and he was sadder then Crowley ever wanted him to be. It wasn’t just about the mortal, he was thinking about how he loved a demon and he shouldn’t. Was that the problem all along? Him?

;

The arrangement had been on a long hiatus, it had been too long since the last time they had properly done it and Crowley thought it about time to dust off their oldest tradition. 

Crowley wanted to change that, he made a custom order at Aziraphale’s favorite tailor. 

Crowley wanted Aziraphale to greet the nineteen seventies with style, he hadn’t seen the angel dance in so long and knew just how to tempt him into a night on the town. Disco was different from the Gavotte but not since the Gavotte had Crowley found so many discrete Gentleman’s clubs that specialized in this one style of dance.

He waited a month, patience was a virtue he didn’t possess but he waited all the same. Going through a pack of smokes a day and a bottle of wine an hour while he waited and waited. 

At long last, he got a response from Aziraphale in the mail.

It was rambling and overflowing in pose that meant nothing, only there to make his writing more pleasant to the eye. Crowley skimmed, only paying attention to the pretty way the angel looped each letter and made fancy circles, almost like halos, above each i.

He finally got to the point of it all, the confirmation that he would go out with Crowley to the Disco, if only to get in the habit of tempting once more after so long.

With all his love and blessings.

He ran his fingers longingly over his beautiful signature.

;

The sun was setting in the rear view mirror when Crowley pulled up to the book shop and almost felt his jaw drop. The silk light blue blouse suited Aziraphale just as Crowley knew it would, the ruffled front and sleeves looking almost like wings making him pop out. The pristine white bell bottoms hugging tightly against his once more curvy body. White custom made boots shinning like pearls.

He was angelic, more angelic then he had been in months with his baggy cloths that barely fit and wan half smiles. His eyes shinning like stars and blonde hair almost glowing in the light of the setting sun.

An angel sent to him from heaven, in every sense of the phrase.

“It doesn’t look too showy?” Aziraphale huffed as he slid into the car straightening the collar, making sure to only show the proper amount of skin. He would never want to look like a Harleton, not like the demon next to him who had his own blood red blouse popped open showing off his red chest hair.

“Not showy enough,” Crowley chuckled, “You remember how to tempt? Its been awhile.”

“Oh please, you act as if it is hard,” Aziraphale groused, “I’m not doing anything too bad tonight. Just the normal tempting people to not pay and I shall not go any farther.”

“I expect a little more sin to come from the mortals when they see you dancing.”

“I should hope not!” Aziraphale sounded afraid, as if the very thought scared him, but he didn’t get out of the car, whatever second thoughts he was having were taking a back seat to the idea of being with the demon.

;

Drunk, desperate and needy Aziraphale was dragging Crowley into the back seat, both tripping over each other as they yanked at one another’s clothing, not remembering to breath as they sucked on each other’s lips. It was less kissing and more fumbling tongues smacking into each other.

Needless to say the only one tempted by the angel tonight was Crowley. He lulled him in with his dancing that wouldn’t attract anyone else and no matter how many times he stepped on the angel’s toes or smacked him with flailing awkward limbs, he didn’t stay away. Just the sight of him, oh the sight of Aziraphale happily drinking, happily eating, happily dancing!

It sent shivers of excitement down Crowley’s spine.

He pulled him into the bathroom giggling just before midnight, whispering excitedly in his ear he tempted a young man to steal, STEAL, him a bottle of rum. They had locked the door and both snickered at the fists beating against the door, the mortals needing to use the restroom but the only one available was locked down by two drunk celestial creatures taking turns drinking their stolen booze.

Aziraphale was half way through a round about story he kept repeating about what’s his face who sat at the bar all night when Crowley had caught his lips in a kiss, Aziraphale had hungrily returned it.

He whispered in his ear they should take this to the car and that’s where they found themselves tumbling into the back seat, giggling like mad. The car started itself and Freddy Mercury began serenading them.

Crowley was fumbling his fingers across Aziraphale’s belt, quickly untightening it and working his way into pulling down those stained with booze and glitter once pristine white pants when Aziraphale shoved him away.

He was breathing hard, no longer excited, no longer happy, just staring at him like a deer caught in head lights shaking his head firmly.

Crowley opened his mouth to ask what was wrong but the angel just shoved himself out of the backseat and out of the car, mumbling an apology as he fell on the ground.

Crowley bent down by him as he hyperventilated, keeping his distance until Aziraphale pulled himself together again.

Crowley used a small demonic miracle to call a cab, it was for the best Aziraphale sorted himself out and Crowley didn’t crowd him after whatever had happened.

“I’m so sorry,” Aziraphale whispered to him keeping them both at arms distance, hugging himself tight as the cab pulled up, “I’m so sorry.”

“Do ya need to sober up before you go?”

Aziraphale didn’t respond, just shaking his head as he got in the cab and practically fell over on the seat. Crowley made sure to put it the driver’s head he wasn’t to talk to or even consider touching Aziraphale on the way home.

Crowley spent the rest of the evening staring off at the waning moon and glowing stars, sitting on the hood of his car, smoking and drinking until the sun finally rose and he too had to go home.

;

He hadn’t been invited in the shop but after last week and yet another poor reaction to a kiss and the radio silence after, Crowley was a little more then worried.

He didn’t call first, he didn’t ask, he just entered the shop as if he was one of the customers.

It was dead inside the shop, not unusual, Aziraphale made himself welcoming, not the shop. He would rather lose an arm then one of his books. He easily made his way to the back, whistling as he went to loudly announce his presence.

Aziraphale looked like Hell. Skin ashen and back to looking wan and underfed, all his softness gone once more. He was sitting at his desk, a cup of hot chocolate beside him, untouched and molding at the top it had been sitting there just as long as its drinker.

He was staring at one of his Wilde books but not really reading it, just staring at the personal note from the author telling him to always fill his life with love and warmth as he did others. It didn’t seem like he was keeping that promise at the moment.

“You really shouldn’t be here,” Aziraphale chastised but was too down to force Crowley to leave.

“Wanted to make sure you hadn’t done anything stupid.”

Aziraphale gave him a dead smile at his concern and shook his head.

“I don’t think we should do this to ourselves, my dear,” he finally whispered, “Demons aren’t supposed to love and angels aren’t supposed to be selfish about love. We should just cut our loses before we get in trouble.”

Crowley wanted to fight him but knew it wasn’t going to do any good so let Aziraphale lead him to the door and push him out. He would let it go for now. He didn’t exactly call off the arrangement, so maybe things would be back to the new strange normal by next week, Aziraphale would just close himself off more from now on.

He glanced over to the trash bags Aziraphale had just half-hazardly tossed out of the shop (not unlike what he had done with Crowley himself), at the top of the bag was the blue blouse Crowley had gotten just for him.

He picked up the other pile of garbage the angel didn’t want and made his leave. It was hard to be mad at Aziraphale when he was doing such a poor job hiding his pain and Crowley had no idea what it was causing that pain.

;

Crowley was presently lying in bed, miraculously not in danger of burning down his Penthouse as he kept his cigarette in his mouth while he ran his fingers over the soft baby blue blouse that had made Aziraphale’s eyes stand out, made them sparkle like stars when his smile had brightened.

Funny thing about miracles, they left a trace, had a smell about them. If an angel miraculously made bread for the poor, any demon near by would know. It would smell like heaven, that soft smell that almost smelled like lilacs, that smell that Aziraphale always smelt like he was baptized in.

He ran his fingers over the smooth cloth, pinching the back, he closed his eyes and took a deep breath, exhaling a large puff of smoke onto the fine cloth he remembered clinging to Aziraphale’s soft curves and his spindly, unholy fingers creeping across. That gentle smile and that pure relief knowing his angel could be happy again.

Slowly he opened his eyes and took the bud from his lips as the ash fell down onto the once fine cloth that had looked Heavenly on his angel.

His eyes glared at the once pristine and beautiful cloth, a little demonic miracle cancelling out someone’s Heavenly miracle leaving the cloth in the state it had been before Aziraphale had tossed it in the rubbish bin.

Stained in a reddish gold liquid that almost glowed, angel blood and torn to tatters by some beast. He brought the destroyed cloth to his nose and took a long whiff, blood wasn’t the only liquid left on it and it wasn’t Aziraphale’s familiar scent and it wasn’t possible it was mortal. 

He couldn’t just run to Aziraphale’s and demand to know what was going on. That would end…badly and that was understating things.

He clung to the cloth tightly in his fist as he hopped from the bed and marched to the kitchen.

He didn’t know who did this, angel, demon, unknown third party but if anyone was qualified to find him some evidence it surely could be a mortal who went around bragging about his status in a witch army.

He couldn’t lose Aziraphale, not again, asking was picking a fight, sneaking around was risking angering him and it wasn’t like he had time for any of that anyway. He was still a servant of hell with jobs to take care of himself. He would leave the getting the bottom of this to someone else, he had eyes and ears around London for reason, he reminded himself firmly.

He leaned against his wall and scratched his mustache in annoyance as he listened to the dial tone. He felt Aziraphale’s fingers ghost across it and his angel giggle from his memory about how it was growing on him. He clung to the tattered blouse tighter, he just got him back in his life, he wasn’t losing him again.

Not to a senseless fight and not to someone asshole thinking he was allowed to hurt him. He was a creature of Heaven for Go-Sa-fucking someone’s sake!

“Good evening, love,” he said seductively temporarily dropping his anger to do his job, tempting mortals to sin, “I’m looking for Sergeant Shadwell, is he home?”


	5. The 1970s P2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I'm building up to the reveal of Crowley knowing from Aziraphale's perspective. Also of Aziraphale's perspective on the date with Crowley from last chapter.

-1970-

Somedays, Aziraphale fantasized about falling.

When Gabriel whispered in his ear, he would like him to drop some weight for him, when he asked him in that sickening sweet way to undress himself for his superior. When he had to form a sex he didn’t want, when Gabriel began to slowly walk around him inspecting his sickening thin corporal form.

He imagined what it would be like to fall from grace. Was there truly anything worse in hell then this?

He tensed hard as Gabriel forced a finger, then two into his vagina and began to slowly, agonizingly slowly, rub and swirl them around, pressing his body close to Aziraphale and making him look him in the eyes as he violated him.

He imagined falling into a burning pit as the chills from the autumn afternoon crept across his bare and vulnerable skin. He imagined the solitude of being forced to burn for a millennium as Gabriel slammed him hard against his desk, spreading his legs for a better view of his other hand probing him.

He imagined the darkness that would settle after a while, being forced into solitude far away from Her light and lost in the darkness as he was almost blinded by the afternoon sun coming through the blinds Gabriel’s shoulder hit in his haste to climb on top of him, replacing cold fingers with his dick making him cry out at the force, he would never be used to the sensation of it being forced in like that.

;

He had made a nasty habit of ‘blacking out’ during Gabriel’s visits. Sometimes Gabriel minded and would hit him until he came back to himself, other times, he just left him there on the ground when he was in his more generous moods.

He didn’t necessarily fall asleep, angels didn’t really sleep, it wasn’t really losing consciousness either. He was still aware of the pain, but he just…got lost in thought. That was the best way to put it. He would think of fond memories, he would think of his favorite part in his books, he would pretend Gabriel was Crowley…

He gulped, pulling himself up and pulling his knees close to his bare and naked body. He smelled like Gabriel, it was a holy scent, it was the smell of someone who fought for the righteous and protected the weak. It was from his superior who cared so much for him that he didn’t even need to know he wanted, no, desperately craved a demon to touch him instead, to try to fix the problem before it began.

It was while he was laying bare on the floor, he began to lament and panic that he had ever wanted to fall. Falling wouldn’t make the pain stop, it would make it worse. Gabriel and Sandalphon did this as the alternative to falling.

He quivered and pulled his legs closer to his body, his too thin body, the way Gabriel liked his body. It felt so small and wrong. It was cold and sharp around the edges and looked as malnourished as his emotional state.

But what Gabriel wanted was the right thing, it didn’t matter if someone as inferior as Aziraphale felt it was wrong. It simply did not matter what Aziraphale wanted, he tried in vain to remind himself, that was entering fallen angel territory questioning. It was something he shouldn’t do.

The phone was ringing, he turned his head letting it continue to do so, resting his head on his knee staring at the phone miraculously still sitting where he had left it on the desk and not toppled onto the floor like the rest of the items. He glanced at the couch and wondered if that would be a better place to rest then the floor but couldn’t bring himself to care. The floor just felt…less tainted then all the furniture in his home.

By the third ring, he found himself finally on his feet and he stepped over the pens and poor books he would have to miracle away the damage to their spines. He wondered briefly if it would be out of line to ask Gabriel if they could not harm the books when they had to do this as he finally made it the phone, staring at it ringing a moment before he finally picked up.

“Good…” he paused, he had no idea what time of day it was or how long he had been on the floor. He had once gone into his own thoughts for several days before he was able to snap back into reality, he was dreadfully afraid one day he would find out he had spent a century just lying there. Not really asleep, not really awake, just somewhere in between.

“Day?” he just went with what he hoped was a safe bet, he would hope no one would call a book shop after hours.

“And what a fine day it is, angel.”

Aziraphale’s eyes widened and he glanced around him, praying and praying Gabriel wasn’t anywhere near.

“Am I still picking you up at St James’s park?”

Aziraphale looked around his destroyed back room and realized he had once more gone into his own head for days. He had asked Crowley a month ago to accompany him to a rare book fair on Saturday, he had seen Gabriel on Monday.

He didn’t say anything briefly setting the phone down and poking his head out of the back room towards the old grandfather clock between rows of bookshelves. It was noon. Not only had he been lollygagging about for six days, but he had wasted his Saturday as well, he always opened at 3 am to 10 am to give customers a good run around today. He was always impressed when one customer always found themselves to him at that strange and inconvenient opening time period.

He picked the phone back up just as Crowley began calling his name.

“I’m sorry dear, I thought a customer had managed to come in.”

“Well we can’t have customers in a book shop,” Crowley chuckled and Aziraphale smiled, the sound was like music to his ears. 

“It was only a mouse,” he said evenly, only a white lie, there were several little white mice scampering about the shop. Aziraphale had put call exterminator on his to do list a couple of times and each time had ended up crossing that chore out feeling a deep pity for the pests, as long as they didn’t nibble on his books, he had plenty of room for them he supposed. They helped keep customers away if they did nothing else.

“The better alternative,” Crowley said dryly, “Are you in need of pest control? For a discount I could—”

“No,” Aziraphale gasped out in panic once more looking around, praying and praying Gabriel wasn’t returning so soon. 

“Yer loss,” Crowley said dryly and Aziraphale found himself calming as he imagined his annoyed look and roll of the eyes thinking he was being soft on vermin now, “When they eat yer precious books with their grubby and foul teeth, ya will be wishing you let a snake lose in the old shop to get rid of the pests.”

Aziraphale felt a shudder run down his spine as he cradled one of the books Gabriel had senselessly knocked into the floor when he threw him against the desk, gently running his finger across the dents and making it good as new without a single mark from Gabriel’s boots stomping down on it. Charles Dickens wasn’t always the most pleasant man to be around but Oliver Twist most certainly didn’t deserve this treatment. He shuddered harder imagining the little fiends in his crawl spaces nibbling away at his most prized possessions and he possessively hugged poor Oliver to his chest tighter.

“I will humanely get rid of them,” he told the demon firmly, “Set some traps and drop them out on the countryside instead of being beastly with the poor things, it’s not their fault they are like this. They don’t know any better…”

Aziraphale frowned leaning against the wall, listening to one of the vermin running by. They were god’s creatures and deserved some respect, some decency and love…

But did he?

His old scars scraped against the wall and he shuddered, the almighty didn’t make mistakes. She always knew best and if she wasn’t stopping the treatment his superiors were doing to him, it meant he did deserve it.

Sometimes you had to bleed for those you loved, that’s what Sandalphon said.

He told Crowley he would be ready soon when he almost sounded concerned as he called his name, he had just blanked out again. He took a deep breath, tightening his hold on Oliver Twist to his bare chest and clenching the phone tighter, he didn’t know how to stop doing that. It was beginning to frighten him.

;

He didn’t quite make it to St. James’s Park. He had begun to walk to the bus stop to take him there but then ended up just sitting on the bench by the bakery a block down. It was cloudy and just gloomy today and left him feeling just as gloomy. It began to drizzle before long and though he had brought his umbrella with him today after peaking outside for the first time in days and seeing the clouds, he didn’t bother to pop it open.

He couldn’t help the wan smile as he felt Crowley’s presence and watched him from the corner of his eyes pick up the umbrella laying uselessly beside him and pop it over them as he sat next to him.

“I’m not quite feeling myself today,” he admitted quietly to Crowley who for his part thankfully didn’t question that.

“The Bentley is parked around the corner,” Crowley said tilting his head, “The little book fair you were worked up about ended hours ago. Cowards were afraid of a little rain.”

“This weather is bad for the books. I would have hoped they would have been smart enough to call it off all together…”

“Ya know humans, angel,” he grunted wrapping an arm loosely around Aziraphale’s too thin frame, his shoulder’s that were wrong and his jacket didn’t fit snug around anymore, “Not a lick of sense about ‘em.”

The Bentley was warm and cozy, Aziraphale found himself cuddling against the leather seats, taking in the warmth. He was cold, left out in the cold too long it seemed.

Crowley didn’t go anywhere important, he drove him around London, took a back road to the countryside, and stopped at a cozy little bed and breakfast complaining he was tired. Aziraphale wasn’t going to complain, sitting in a quaint little chair with flowers embroidered into it and reading a poetry book Crowley had got just for him at the fair he had missed, a cup of coco by his side in front of the fireplace while Crowley slept.

He had never felt safer in his life. 

Shutting his eyes, he sighed contently and felt the softness return to his body, finally feeling at ease enough to change into how he preferred his corporal form. Soft, content and a fulfillment settling in his stomach. Not starved, scared and small.

;

-1972-

Aziraphale had fallen behind on mortal technology, he hadn’t quite meant to. It was just hard to keep up when they kept out doing themselves by the year and the angel had found himself in a comfortable little rut with his books.

The light bulb, heated bath, and the electric stove? He had gotten behind no problem, he was the first building on his block with indoor plumbing and heated water, so he could be a bit ahead of the curb when it came to his own little comforts.

The telly was just…not high on the list of things Aziraphale wanted to be associated with. He had heard Crowley brag about his bunch and their hand on the pulse of the entertainment business, it just didn’t feel proper for him to get behind something like that. It seemed likely to rot someone’s brain and Aziraphale wasn’t going to chance having one in his home.

Music changed so rapidly, what he had once thought of as divine and pleasant to the ears, had turned into something he didn’t understand. Too loud and too much flair. So much sex in the music industry and too many demon hands on the pulse of the problems there as well.

Aziraphale was seen as a failure as it was, he often found himself cringing hard at passing vehicles blaring music or his favorite Deli playing music too loud. He was afraid he might enjoy it and if he enjoyed something so close to hell, he might just fall without warning. He was on thin ice as it was, he didn’t feel like bleeding for forgiveness if he could avoid it.

He jumped, spilling his tea on Crowley’s once clean countertop feeling his fingers on his shoulder snapping him out of his thoughts.

“I’m so sorry, dear!” he proclaimed immediately snapping his fingers and the mess evaporated, tea miraculously back in the cup.

“What’s on your mind?” Crowley queried resting his chin on his outstretched hand and true eyes finally landing on the angel as his glasses slid down.

“I fear, more than ever, I’m not very good at being an angel,” he finally admitted, he wouldn’t tell him the entire truth, that would just upset him. 

“What’s got you thinking that?”

Aziraphale laughed humorlessly at that, gently shaking his head.

“Well for starters, I am actively giving a demon pointers on how to damn souls currently.”

“Nah,” Crowley said firmly raising his finger to keep Aziraphale from saying another word, “You are listening to my brilliant idea and simply giving me constructive criticism on my genius plots.”

“Because I refuse to galivant around in the dark with you around abandoned interstates and move signs. That is immoral and a waste of one’s time.

Aziraphale paused a moment blowing on his tea to miraculously reheat it before taking a small sip.

“I barely know how to use my typewriter. I can hardly give you good pointers about computers.”

“Well there ya go,” Crowley said simply, “You might as well be thwarting me the way you make me pause to explain everything slower over and over again.”

Aziraphale pouted but didn’t argue.

“Can you just give me a Wahoo for my brilliant presentation?”

Crowley wore a large smile, begging the angel for praise like an oversized mutt who had just gotten done slobbering all over the newspaper before dropping it on his lap. Aziraphale took an even sip of his tea and pursed his lips haughtily.

“Whatever does Wahoo mean and why am I saying it again?”

Crowley groaned loudly and threw his sunglasses off in annoyance to properly rub the frustration from his eyes. Aziraphale scoffed just as loudly, for the show of it all but couldn’t help the smile that crept up.

;

Typing was a skill and like any skill it wasn’t something Aziraphale just got over night, it took time and practice and a lot of patience.

Being an immortal heavenly celestial, Aziraphale usually had all those traits needed to master a skill in ‘spades’ as Crowley once said. However, he didn’t have the time he usually had on his side this cold and snowy December evening. He was running behind on his status reports he had to fill out for Gabriel.

The Prophecy reports, what was expected to happen this year by every mortal who had been touched with the future either by occult or divine forces. What prophecies were worth their intervention, what they meant and what they would expect. Aziraphale almost felt being seen as incompetent as a good thing when it came to this, if it meant fighting a demonic entity, well it wouldn’t be him sent and since he no longer knew what became of his flaming sword, he couldn’t help but feel nothing other then relief at that.

Each report on miracles he had personally granted, why he needed to intervene on the lives of mortals, how this benefited Heaven, how this helped mortals, etc, etc. It was tiring and felt like busy work most of the time, Aziraphale and all his bothersome ‘black outs’ kept him from properly getting this work done.

Maybe Crowley and his little pleasures got in the way but that didn’t excuse him from once more finding himself just curled on the kitchen floor after attempting to make tea to calm his treacherous and useless mind that was going overboard in thinking everything was a threat.

He saw Gabriel last in November and since then he had found himself collapsing at the seams. Gabriel was helping him and he had promised if he let him have a month without visits, he would get these reports done on time.

He clicked his fingers quickly across the keys and almost cried realizing he had made enough mistakes to warrant throwing out another paper. The pile of papers flooding the floor, a testament to his constant failures.

Crowley was lazy and unmotivated and often tried to tempt Aziraphale into small temptations so he didn’t need to, but he always got this done on time. Aziraphale was finding it hard to open shop lately, unable to deal with the customers and now he was failing at his angelic duties for Heaven.

His old grandfather clock chimed it was midnight and Aziraphale had wasted an entire day and had very little to show for it. He sighed loudly, sinking into his chair and dramatically throwing his head back to look at the ceiling. He just stared up at the cracks, counting them and listened to the bristling wind outside that knocked his electricity out leaving him in the dark. His old furnace, still running on coal the old fashioned way, letting out a mighty growl hard at work to keep the shop warm and cozy during this storm.

Hard working as it was it was bound to get tuckered out soon when Aziraphale did nothing to keep it running. He just didn’t have the energy, like he just didn’t have the energy to put his all into his reports that needed to be done.

He didn’t know why he was feeling like this, he didn’t require sleep, he didn’t even really require food to fuel his body, his body was human shaped but far from human. It had the same little quirks but his celestial energy was able to power it to keep going for centuries.

What was it the mortals called this?

Depression, that was it, a deep sadness that kept you from going on. It meant their brain was defective or something like that. He wasn’t mortal, so he could only assume he was just defective. Maybe had been since the moment he thought it was a good idea to weave flower crowns for Eve instead of protecting her from temptation.

The almighty didn’t make mistakes, but he was here, so it must mean everyone had that exception to the rule.

He jumped feeling fingers ghosting across his cheeks, wan and bony from him just not having the energy to bring his softness back and lips gently press against his forehead.

“What has you so down, Aziraphale,” he gulped hard realizing it was Gabriel finding him in this pitiful state. He felt every muscle clenching, hating himself for hoping it was the demon Crowley instead of a fellow angel.

“I am defective,” he found himself admitting, “I just can’t get anything done.”

He had never once known Gabriel to be gentle, never to him. Maybe to Michael or Uriel but he would never offer this to him. He clenched his eyes waiting for the strike, waiting for him to make his usual demands, waiting for him to rip him apart.

None of that happened, he found himself leaning into Gabriel’s gentle embrace, golden tears leaking from his defective eyes. Gabriel gently wiped them away with his thumb.

“She would never make a defective angel, Aziraphale,” he whispered into his hair as he nuzzled him. Gently, he gathered Aziraphale into his arms and shielded him from the cold with his wings, such an intimate act he would have never expected from him.

“You simply do not know any better and that is we are here to teach and guide you,” he continued to whisper, gently tucking them both into Aziraphale’s bed. His soft, beautiful wings Aziraphale never thought he would let someone like him touch tucking around them both.

“Rest is alright, its alright now, I will watch over you and be here,” he gently kissed Aziraphale on the neck and with a gentle touch he wasn’t used to, guided Aziraphale’s eyes to close.

The storm raged wildly outside and inside Aziraphale’s mind and soul but for once, Gabriel stayed and held him. For once Aziraphale was afraid of his mind for thinking of it as safety. For once he was questioning why he wanted to feel this way from a demon when all along he should have longed for this.

You had to bleed for forgiveness, his mind whispered to him before he fell asleep, truly asleep, for the first time since the Garden.


	6. The 1970s P3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright I'm going to be real, these chapters covering Aziraphale and the abuse were supposed to be one chapter but they kept getting too long for my liking, so I cut them in half. 
> 
> One more chapter about Aziraphale and then we will get back to Crowley and Shadwell.

-1972-

The week after Gabriel had been gentle with him, things changed. For the better and for the worse.

It started with a summons to heaven, Aziraphale was ecstatic as he was terrified.

A simple miracle would do, he could just teleport himself to the office building that lead to the main head office, but he still found himself stalling. He gently swept his palms down his tan pants and sweeping imaginary specks of dust from his crème colored trench coat and once more tidied his tartan bow tie.

“There we go,” he mumbled to his reflection, having one last look at himself before heading downstairs to the shop. He brushed his finger across the books on the shelves, took in a deep breath smelling the musk and leather and dust, staring at his own down cast reflection staring anxiously back at him from the glass on the door.

He felt suddenly like he was marching to his execution. In the back of his mind he felt cold cuffs on his hand and a snickering voice excitedly telling him what to expect as he was pulled to the guillotine.

He imagined himself walking with pride to his death as he locked up his shop and popped open his umbrella stepping out into the rainy and dreary Soho streets, head held high and his best smile as he walked to the bus stop.

He greeted everyone who passed with a pleasant hello, some returned his greeting, most grunted at him in annoyance, but no response helped the sick feeling bubbling in his stomach.

He didn’t take a seat on the bus, he stood and let the mortals rest instead while he stood holding on to the overhead straps. He watched every face that entered and smiled brightly at each of them. He assisted an older woman to sit down and helped her out on her stop, even giving her his umbrella seeing she didn’t have one.

As he stepped off the bus at his stop, he waited a moment then that moment bled into a solid five minutes just standing out in the rain, getting drenched in water, the cold seeping deep into his corporal form, watching a bolt of lightening streak across the sky before turning to every face passing by him.

There was no Crowley here to save him, not this time, nor had he been there when this all began. He wrapped his jacket tighter around himself as the wind picked up and finally decided to enter the building and face the music as the humans said.

He stood at the entrance of the escalator a moment longer, one of the newer portals to head office. Not quite Heaven’s main gates but the place all the work got done. He waited another moment. He wanted so desperately for Crowley to show up and whisk him away from this, he didn’t want to face the humiliation of facing other angels. They were bound to see his sinful marks, they would know how he teetered at the edge half way down into the pits of hell.

He steadied his breath and imagined Marie Antoinette during her last moments, stripped of her dignity, all her mortal pleasures a faint memory after so long imprisoned, but she kept her pride till the end. She stood tall and walked with grace to meet her end.

Aziraphale himself had been saved from that walk by the demon he was longing for, but he wouldn’t be saved from his figurative execution. He wouldn’t be saved from the humiliation that waited him upstairs. He wouldn’t be saved if they let him tumble down.

He took a deep breath and held his head with pride as he ascended to heaven.

“Aziraphale!”

He flinched hard at Gabriel’s booming and joyous call, he paused where he was at the entrance. He clenched his jaw a moment before forcing a bright smile for his fellow angels as he had given each mortal on his way here.

Gabriel spread his arms out, expecting him to step forward but Aziraphale kept his eyes on Uriel and Michael to his left eying him with irritation and Sandalphon standing silently to Gabriel’s right, a smile on his face but it sent shivers of fear down Aziraphale’s spine.

Gabriel made a noise in the back of his throat to catch his attention and Aziraphale nervously walked towards his superior, letting him wrap his arms possessively around him, a bright smile on his face as he showed off his progress to his fellow archangels. 

“We were just discussing the progress you have been making,” he said pleasantly and Aziraphale felt his stomach turn again, he imagined what it must have been like to be marched up to the guillotine with the crowd cheering and jeering loudly to your pain hearing Michael’s solemnly heard laugh. Uriel giving him a passing smile as she tilted her head towards Gabriel’s office and Gabriel gently pushed him forward, gently pushing him in a chair in front of his desk. Aziraphale stared numbly at the golden plague that had Gabriel’s sigils carved into it, Aziraphale tilted his head and the sigils changed to human languages all saying the same, this was Gabriel’s office.

Aziraphale remembered being chained to the wall in the Bastille and remembered the horrid woman holding a gun to his head in the church, he had been cocky then, there had been a way out then if things went wrong. Crowley had been there to save him then.

He felt deep shame thinking he needed a demon to save him from his fellow angels, they were the almighty’s favorite angels at that. Her archangels, they knew best as she knew best. 

“We are very pleased that you seem to be coming into your own as an angel at last!”

Aziraphale gave Gabriel a large (forced) smile and nodded, he felt himself tensing as Sandalphon patted him on the back. For a brief moment all he could think of was the whip striking him. It passed just as quickly as it came but he felt it and he knew Uriel saw his shameful marks. She was looking at him with almost pity. He almost hated that stare more then her anger and frustration.

“We are proud of you for finally allowing Gabriel to help you,” Michael said with a tight smile, there was a gleam behind her eyes. Her eyes were directed at the back of his jacket as he awkwardly straightened his back.

He only half listened to the reports of how his prophecies had helped them into taking down demons before they could harm anyone. He only half listened to Sandalphon bragging about being able to smite something after so long. Aziraphale felt the whip against his back and straightened himself more, that smile just brought out strange ghost pains he couldn’t understand.

He was finally allowed to leave, dismissed by a proud Gabriel who turned to discuss another matter with Michael, something concerning a treaty with hell.

He began to walk away when he was stopped by Uriel’s hand on his shoulder, he looked up into their eyes. They weren’t concerned, but they were nervous.

“Bleeding for forgiveness is dangerous, it takes it’s toll on us,” they said and Aziraphale felt himself leaning into their slight concern, “If I were you, I would stay on your best behavior. I would continue to behave for Gabriel. I do not wish for Gabriel’s hard work to be gone because you don’t know your place. Don’t give Sandalphon reason to keep making you bleed for forgiveness.”

They walked off after that, not even glancing back to him, leaving him with that stiff warning. He tried to thank them for their concern, but the words died on his lips. He took his march home, keeping himself away from temptation as much as possible.

He hadn’t bled since that night in 1862 and never wanted to feel that pain and humiliation again. As bad as he felt when Gabriel assisted him with controlling his lust, he prayed he would never have to feel Sandalphon’s wrath again.

; 

-1975-

It was almost more degrading when Gabriel was gentle with him.

He had let his fellow angel in and had been going over his recent miracles with him, he was talking about how he wished to give comfort and quick recoveries to the victims of an accident on Dribbles Bridge when he felt Gabriel lower the paper he was reading from, and gently place a kiss on his neck.

Aziraphale just stood stock still as Gabriel, slowly and almost agonizingly slowly removed each article of cloths from him and dropped them in a clump on the floor. He gently brought Aziraphale’s hands to his nicely pressed suit and silently demanded Aziraphale do the same for him.

That feeling of being imprisoned and marched to the guillotine returned to Aziraphale, he couldn’t do much more then agree to this.

Once they were both bare and so vulnerable to the afternoon sun light creeping through the closed blinds, Gabriel pulled Aziraphale close and nibbled playfully at his ear before whispering to him.

“How would this be more pleasurable to you?”

It was an odd question, Aziraphale truly had no answer for it. He knew these acts were ultimately for his benefit to keep him from lusting over humans as he once did for the likes of Oscar Wilde and Robbie Ross and of course to keep his dirty secret desire for a demon at bay, but he never thought of what he would like.

He thought a moment and he heard Gabriel’s impatient grunt, he would need to choose or Gabriel would choose for him and Gabriel got rough when he was impatient with him.

He lead him to the chair he used to associate with Crowley, the one Crowley always used to drink in before he had almost banned him from his shop to keep his dirty secret from Gabriel, to save himself another encounter with Sandalphon.

He had Gabriel sit down in the chair and snapped his fingers and a bottle of wine and two glasses appeared.

Gabriel gave him a chuckle and amused look as he offered him a glass but took it all the same. Aziraphale smiled gratefully at him, glancing at his glass and deciding all at once this would work better if he had more alcohol in his system. He chugged the bottle.

He lubricated Gabriel’s penis slowly, moving his fingers across the shaft getting him nice and hard, making his superior moan as he messaged him.

He took another large swig of wine, drinking half the bottle, getting himself lightheaded and dizzy before slowly sliding Gabriel’s dick into his vagina, gasping as it popped in.

He closed his eyes as he slowly, so slowly it made Gabriel moan for him to go faster but he didn’t. He kept his slow pace, imagining Crowley as Gabriel locked his hands tight around Aziraphale’s wan and too thin hips, bruising him instantly as he forced them up and down forcing Aziraphale to go faster.

He kept his mind shut off and imagined Crowley whispering ‘angel’ in his ears as he rode out an orgasm. He imagined Crowley lovingly kissing him on the neck. He felt, god, he felt Crowley asking him if he could take over instead of forcing himself in charge. He felt love radiating off a being who shouldn’t feel love instead of the nothing he always felt from Gabriel.

He heard Crowley whisper he loved him from the back of his mind as Gabriel came fast into him and he felt himself vibrating in ecstasy just thinking of Crowley touching him like this. He bit his lip so hard it bled to keep the scream of the demon’s name only in his fantasy.

When he came too, he was discarded on the floor next to his poor wrinkled clothing, alone but he had never felt more ashamed as he got himself dressed.

;

Summer never quite agreed with Aziraphale’s corporal form. With some effort he could cool himself down, but he found himself either lacking the energy or the will power to do much about small discomforts these days.

Instead of using a frivolous miracle, Aziraphale opted to opening his loft window and stripping himself of his well-loved clothing. He sat in his favorite reading chair, still like the day he bought in 1890, plush and soft as he was in his favorite tartan pattern. It was rare Gabriel came upstairs to the loft, he had only held Aziraphale the once in his bed, so it always felt more comforting to sit up here. Lounge in his favorite chair with his Wilde collection, staring out the window to the little Soho neighborhood that had become his.

He looked down at the flower carts Mrs. Doyle had left out again next door leaning against the open window, he saw the lights on upstairs in Mr. Smith’s craft shop and could smell the Donavan’s next batch of sweets.

Leaning against the frame he was reminded why he took it, why he let Gabriel do what he did, why he didn’t question the things heaven did. There was so much love in the world, so much love nested into every little shop on his block, cooked into the food around him, squeezed into every hug and morning greeting.

He closed his eyes and let it fill him, letting the love of this little neighborhood make him soft once more. His wan and pale cheeks become rosy and plump once more as smiled towards the flower carts and blessed them to bloom and grow for the morning sales. Sent a blessing for the morning rolls to be plump and filling and the fine pastries to be the best in London. A small little miracle to his neighbors to get through the year, just for helping remind him what love felt like after such a humiliating day.

He walked to his rarely used bathroom and filled up his tub with cold water and filled it with fine oils and bath salts. He sat on the edge on the tub, taking in his nude form and thought a moment about what Gabriel had told him earlier before he had left.

How would he make the acts they did more pleasurable?

Aziraphale wasn’t a fool, he was naïve at times and even now hoped for the better but he took a deep sigh. Gabriel was just being polite to him, Gabriel was a good soul he knew, he had to be. He was an angel, he was his superior, he had fought for Her during the rebellion and had been hand chosen by Her to over see the birth of Her only true son.

Gabriel was simply, absent minded, he surely always meant well, he was doing this for Aziraphale. He made it his sole mission to make certain his fellow angel didn’t fall, a noble and kind act. He was doing what was best, it didn’t matter it wasn’t how Aziraphale wanted it.

Aziraphale feared he wanted it a bit more sinful. He put a little effort into changing his sex into a penis.

He slid into the bathtub and imaged how he had closed his eyes and finally given Gabriel a genuine orgasm when he pretended he was a demon.

Gently, ever so softly he caressed his penis and ran shaky fingers along it and moaned thinking of Crowley touching him. Of thinking of only him, his imperfect corporal form and feeling nothing short of lust for him, wanting to take him not for a loving reason like Gabriel but simply because he wanted Aziraphale.

Desired Aziraphale in a selfish way and only wanted to tend to his needs, not force it upon him.

He imagined him whispering ‘angel’ into his ear as he pumped faster and moaned loudly as he slowed his pace and imaged Crowley whispering he would never rush him. He moaned loudly as he came prematurely and imagined gentle butterfly kisses down his neck.

“Crowley,” he moaned removing his hand from his dick and looking at the mess he had made, sticky cum washing away in the oils and soaps of the water.

He sank into the water and felt tears falling and sobbed as loud as he liked in his private sanctuary.

Sometimes he fantasized about falling despite Gabriel’s efforts and the other angel’s praise of how good he was becoming and falling always landed him in Crowley’s arms.


	7. The 1970s P4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Two chapters for the price of one.

-1977-

Aziraphale sometimes felt miracles and magic didn’t always work when it came to keeping nosy and bothersome crowds from his shops. While the fine layer of dust was miraculously never doing harm to his prized first additions, the smell wasn’t always strong enough to really turn people’s noses.

He began burning incents the last few years, strong clouds of sage choking up most who walked through the door.

Recently, he had found something that choked up nosy customers who liked to crowd around him while he was reading and something to relieve his built-up tension.

Smoking wasn’t really sinful nor was it seen as the most immoral thing around but there was just something that felt wrong about an angel willingly inhaling smoke. Something not quite holy about an angel holding an open flame and watching it dwindle to nothing.

He took in a puff of smoke, watching with dismay as a young couple sauntered into his shop, fingers interlaced, and love wasn’t exactly on their mind. It was a common misconception that lust, and love didn’t overlap sometimes.

The aura of love was always a very soft pink shade, innocent and gentle and it made a gentle tingle, like butterflies, sweep through Aziraphale. Sometimes lingering if it was a strong enough feeling of love and devotion you held.

Lust, however, was vibrant and hot. It was like being caught up in sweltering heat outside, it wasn’t always horrible per say but it was uncomfortable.

He kept his eyes stern as he watched the young lovers tip toe behind his large and overflowing bookshelves, his poor shop was tainted enough by demonic auras and his own impure thoughts, he didn’t need their lust added to that. He wasn’t about to be the shop some poor child was conceived in. 

He didn’t know why he, he could never get a read on what Gabriel felt, he didn’t always get a good enough read on Crowley either though. Mortals wore everything on their sleeve, he could read them like open books, celestials were always a little more muddled. Mortals radiated their feelings, their love, their lust, their hatred.

Celestial bodies however, not so much. Maybe Gabriel was able to hide his overwhelming love for Aziraphale, maybe he felt those things were personal. He could get a loose sense on Crowley’s feelings, but they were muddled and easy to misinterpret. Maybe it was just because he was a demon and demons, as he had been told many, many times, were incapable of feeling love. That was striped from them with heaven’s light with the fall.

He had spent his entire existence devoted to never questioning his superiors and it felt like an uncomfortable and maybe even too forward and personal subject to bring up with Crowley, so he had let it go. He had only begun to speculate on it when Gabriel had begun a more intimate relationship with him to save him the humiliation of falling.

He watched the mortals and felt love as the young man pulled a bent and bruised and poorly maintained carnation from his bellbottoms pocket and tucked it behind the young lady’s ear, it blended well with her blonde curls.

She slid off her pink tinted large sunglasses and pushed them on him, giggling lightly, kissing him on the cheek.

He let the ash hit against the cash register, a frown deepening as he sank back in the wooden chair he put behind it.

It was an improper thing to think about, he knew, but he had to wonder if the young man ever strangled the young woman until her vision blurred while forcing himself hard in her. Was that a thing humans did when they loved one another?

Or was that only something angels did to make someone they loved reconsider, reconsider their love for Her and their devotion to Her. It was very improper and wrong to lust for humans and well Aziraphale was guilty of that. He had flirted and tempted quite a lot before Gabriel forced him to see the error of his ways and how disgusting he must have been.

Or maybe he knew, oh he knew how he lusted and wanted a demon to degrade him, how he wanted to betray Heaven and Her.

You had to learn through anger sometimes, that was the point of the flood after all and that was the point of what Gabriel did, surely. 

He was snapped from his thoughts as the young man brought a book to him, he glanced down at the Complete Works of William Shakespeare, published 1970, one of the newer copies in his shop. Something he was willing to let go of. 

“Fans of Shakespeare?” he asked pleasantly and the young lady giggled.

“I am an actress,” she said with a bright smile and oh there was so much love in her smile, in the way she clung to the young man and brushed her fingers through her hair, so gently it didn’t even disturb the poor abused flower behind her ear.

They talked awhile about the theater and Aziraphale’s favorite plays and how the young woman was majoring in theater in Oxford, she was to play Lady McBeth in a little theater not far from here.

A lovely young couple, full of love and joy. Aziraphale wished them the best, silently blessing the young lady’s performance and the young man’s up coming job interview. As they left the flower was lively and looking freshly bloomed. 

He watched them walk off down the street from the shop’s window and was filled with an overwhelming urge to call Crowley.

He was pleasantly surprised he answered, waking from one of his weekly naps just to talk Shakespeare with Aziraphale.

;

There was something relaxing about walking the peaceful streets of Soho early in the morning, long before most would get up and long after the night owls had begun to retire. He hadn’t sent a letter like this in so long, not since he had been enamored with Oscar Wilde and had sent many a letter to him trying in vain to match his wit and turn of phrase.

Earlier that week, he had been personally visited by his favorite tailor, Mr. Gallo, whose father had immigrated to Soho and set up a lovely little shop he had been purchasing his suits from since 1930, had stopped by.

It had been a quiet day, Aziraphale had been thinking of closing the shop and walking downtown to the lovely little fruit stand that sold the pears in London. He hadn’t eaten since he had last seen Crowley two weeks ago, he hadn’t left his shop since the day after when Gabriel visited. He wore a thick winter turtleneck despite the weather due to his shame that Gabriel had asked him to not miracle away the deep bruising along his throat, asked him to practice being humbler with the miracles.

He knew he had no reason to feel deep and utter shame at the marks, but he did. 

The lithe middle-aged man stepped in, his suit freshly pressed and a vibrant yellow. Aziraphale thought it made his pretty amber eyes pop out and his dark hair went well with it.

“Mr. Fell,” he said with a fond smile instantly moving towards the counter and leaning against it in that delicate way that made him look like a magazine model showing off his hand-crafted suit, “It’s been so long!”

“A year,” he said with a nod and smile offering his hand to the man who always made him blush as he took it and gave it a gentle kiss. He like his father was a Casanova type, making many a woman and quite a few men swoon with their charm.

“And you have been missed in my shop,” the other man concluded with a smile that shifted into a frown, “And it seems you desperately need a change in wardrobe if that is what you choose to wear.”

Aziraphale blushed and turned his head away to hide his shame, he hadn’t properly washed his clothing. They still smelled of Gabriel, he just didn’t have the energy most days, it felt some days it was a fool’s errand trying to go back to his old routines.

“But,” Mr. Gallo said in that long drawled out way he did, “You are in luck. Someone is looking out for you and ordered you attire that will look stunning on you.”

Aziraphale frowned at that, he didn’t know who would. Gabriel would simply give it to him if it was from him and Crowley wouldn’t bother to do something as mundane as ordering clothing from Gallo’s shop.

“Come by tomorrow and I shall add the last personal touches on it before I give it to you. I do not simply deliver a product, I make sure it suits you first and I will have you telling that to your Crowley. He quite rude and impatient.”

Aziraphale knew he was being rude, but his brain must have shut down at the mere mention of Crowley entering his favorite shop and custom ordering an outfit just for him. A gentle smile graced his lips and his heart fluttered and the entire shop had a faint pink tent to it now.

Aziraphale had never felt love like this. It was wrong, it was sinful and it was selfish but Aziraphale wanted it. He desperately craved it and must have it.

Aziraphale had spent days writing and rewriting this letter, burning through ink and paper on his typewriter trying to find the exact words. He knew he hadn’t, despite his efforts, he was no Oscar Wilde. It was rambling and overflowing purple prose of gratitude Crowley had thought of him at all.

He had hung the lovely personalized attire with care and love in his wardrobe and saw it each morning as he got dressed. He thought of how it fit him standing in front of the mirror in Gallo’s shop, Gallo standing behind him with a broad, self-congratulatory smile as he saw how well it fit him and Aziraphale found himself almost glowing feeling the love woven into each seam. 

He was sinful and he was selfish, but he hadn’t felt so angelic in so long, so full of love and pride.

He dropped the letter into the mailbox and sent a blessing to whoever delivered it on time for him.

He had a skip to his step as he made his way through the streets of London, love flowing through each step bringing a smile to even the foul tempered mortals he passed by.

He thought of the brief note Crowley had left with Gallo, tempting him to join him as he spread mischief. It had been so long since they had done anything for the arrangement. Too long.

To my dearest Angel,

Allow me to tempt you to a night of sin.

-AJC

Those words were forever tattooed on Aziraphale’s heart.

;

Despite what Crowley had firmly insisted on the drive here, the disco was not at all like the Gavotte.

It all started with the difference in the Disco’s Gentleman Clubs and the Gavotte’s Discreet Gentleman Clubs Aziraphale had made a home over a hundred years ago. Those had been on clean streets, beautifully country clubs with Eden like gardens in front of them, the disco club however, was off the interstate Crowley had spent so much time working on and next to a liquor store. It didn’t quite have the same class.

Aziraphale thought he had been telling Crowley this as served him his first glass of wine, which was smooth and refreshing despite the dingy glass it was served in.

It was hard keeping track of one’s thoughts at all with a demon whispering in his ear he should try a variety of colorful drinks filled to the brim with enough alcohol to knock the best of men to their knees.

“The Gavotte was a very nobleman’s pass time if you ask me,” he found himself once more explaining to a poor young man at the bar who once more lost his drink to his shaking hands and turning stomach as lights dimmed once more. With a snap, the poured out drink found itself once more in the young man’s cup and the young man was squinting hard at, too drunk to clearly think how that had happened.

“Now the clubs in those days weren’t just to flex your muscles but to flex your mind, Robbie always loved to tell me of the art galleries he frequented and oh the poets, always reciting their best work as you would catch their eye on the dance floor…”

Aziraphale cringed as the young man began vomiting on the floor as the music became more lively, he held his shaking hand up to get the bar tender’s attention as the young man began vomiting once more and the other young gentleman around the bar merely stepped around the poor thing.

“Robbie Ross,” Crowley scowled wrapping his arms around Aziraphale’s shoulder and sliding another drink that appeared to be sparkling as the flickering lights of the ‘disco ball’ hit it, “Poor fool. Loved Wilde more then even you and had to wait over thirty damn years for the mortals to grant his only wish of being laid to rest by the man…”

“I sometimes miss him,” Aziraphale slurred downing another drink, “As I miss so many mortals from those days. There just aren’t many willing to wax poetry anymore…”

“You are just don’t want to listen anymore,” Crowley slurred back splashing his drink across the dance floor as he swayed his hips in a way that made Aziraphale giggle, “Open your ears to todays modern poets.”

“This is no poetry!” Aziraphale exclaimed appalled, “This is just merely bebop!”

“Catchy bebop,” he admitted falling into Crowley’s open arms, “But bebop the same!”

The night was a blur from there, drinks, oh so many drinks. Aziraphale distinctly remembered ordering an order of custard tarts but if they had ever made their way to him in his sea of drinks, he didn’t know.

He was certain he had a young lad who had been flirting with him to steal a bottle of spiced rum for him and he was sure he had in the restroom with Crowley but he didn’t know what had become of it when he finally found himself in his dirtiest fantasy.

It started with shaking hands spilling red rum on his poor pants, leaving a stain Aziraphale knew in his heart would never truly come out such a waste of Gallo’s fine work. Then with shaking hands he ran his trembling fingers over the snake tattoo on Crowley’s face, the demon leaned desperately into the touch.

He almost asked if it hurt, hurt to carve his own sigil into his face to tell the world who he really was but the words turned into a breath against Crowley’s lips and spun into clumsy kissing. Just as clumsy and drunken hands exploring.

Ending at the Bentley in the parking lot, the interstate loud in the background as Aziraphale hit the car door, stumbling a moment before he was able to throw the back-seat door open and Crowley was able to throw him against the seat. He flopped against leather, bouncing a moment before being steadied and anchored to his spot by Crowley’s lithe form, arms snaking around him tightly and promising to not let him tumble to the floor.

Spittle flew, raining on Aziraphale’s face as their teeth stopped awkwardly clanking against each other and tongues stopped flailing, neither experienced in this despite their age, despite the hours Gabriel put into forcing this on him.

The thought of Gabriel felt like a warning siren, sending off all his senses as Crowley fumbled with his belt, giving him that selfish love he always wanted. He thought of Gabriel slamming him against the ground, thought of hands choking him when he tried to pull away, forcing entrance when Aziraphale stuttered out a plea to stop.

He found himself gasping, forcing himself out of his own thoughts, emerging from them like someone who had been drowning. He shoved Crowley off him and stumbled out of the car, knees hitting the pavement hard, gasping desperately for air.

He felt Crowley try to put his arm around him, to help calm him down but he shoved him away, taking in a few deep gasps before he was able to right himself enough to stand up. He felt shame bubbling in him, he wanted selfish love from Crowley so badly but once he was able to get it all he could think about was Gabriel.

Maybe it was a good thing, this is why Gabriel did what he did, he did it to protect Aziraphale from temptations like this. He felt thick tears rolling down his eyes watching Crowley deflate, giving up on him like everyone else did.

He walked back towards the bar and used the pay phone on the side while Aziraphale waited by the Bentley, glancing out towards the off ramp of the highway that lead them here, the highway Crowley was so proud to have helped make.

Crowley offered to help him sober up before he got into the taxi, but he just didn’t want that. He wanted to just pass out once he got home and feel nothing and only alcohol would help his corporal form do that.

;

The cab pulled up to the bookstore and he knew something was off the moment the driver pulled up.

The lights were on inside when he knew he had turned them off. He had drunkenly popped his boots off in the cab, originally, he planned on taking them with him but when he turned back to retrieve them to stall whatever was waiting for him inside, he cursed seeing the driver leaving without a single word to him.

He bit back the curse and forced what might have been a petty inconvenience for the driver out of his mind and let it go as he twisted the unlocked door open.

He felt his heart thundering in his chest, he did not leave it like that when he left.

He thought of just walking away, maybe going to a bar and drinking more till he passed out or even returning to Crowley.

He gulped at that thought and squared his shoulders. There was no turning back to Crowley after that embarrassment, it was for the best. He would survive Gabriel, he might not be so lucky with a fall from Grace.

He stood there just caressing the doorknob, afraid to go in the way he looked, cloths disheveled and shoes missing, still swaying from the alcohol in his system. He took a deep breath and knew he smelled of sin and found himself gulping down his nausea, worse he smelled like brimstone and sulfur. It coated Crowley’s touch and stained his skin.

He jumped back and fell on his behind on the sidewalk as the door swung back on its own.

“Aziraphale.”

He didn’t move to pick himself off the sidewalk, just sitting there staring in at his well loved and disorganized book stacks. The thought of just running, letting his cowardice take control at the front of his mind. He glanced to the side of him, at Mrs. Doyle’s flower cart she had once more forgotten to take in for the night. He stared at the freshly cut but wilting in this humitey Petunias, he could teleport, just think of anywhere but here and he would be gone.

He could unleash his rarely used wings and just go.

He could have done anything he thought in dismay feeling Gabriel’s tight grip wrap around his arms and haul him off the ground and toss him inside the book shop. He knew he deserved this though and there was no turning back now. 

Aziraphale felt his heart drop seeing Sandalphon leaning sitting in his wooden chair behind the cash register, he had that smile on his face that meant Aziraphale was about to bleed for forgiveness.

The door shut and locked itself at Sandalphon’s snap and Gabriel didn’t give Aziraphale many options dragging him to the back room, a look of absolute disgust on his face.

;

Stains were easy to remove, it was easy as a miracle, a simple blink and they would be gone. No one would even know they had been there to begin with. No one would ever have to see the shameful bloodstains, and no one would ever need to see the crusted bodily fluid that wasn’t his own.

Aziraphale pulled the tattered blouse his Crowley had ordered just for him off, wincing hard as the fabric scraped along his bleeding wounds.

Tears were welling in his eyes, he would know. He would always know. He blinked and the blood was gone, the beautiful, soft and silky garment good as new.

He hugged the fabric close to his chest and sobbed, he prayed for forgiveness. Forgiveness from the almighty for never getting things right, forgiveness from Gabriel for squandering his faith in him and forgiveness from Crowley for tempting him.

He threw the blouse on top of the rubbish bin and yanked the bag out tying it loosely and throwing it by the front door, he would take it out later.

No one would know of the shame he felt, tomorrow he would burry it and try to be better. To earn forgiveness.


	8. Shadwell Enters the Mix

-1977-

It felt wrong to be at this particular café without Aziraphale. Crowley had ordered the angel’s normal coco and crème filled croissant before realizing he wouldn’t be finding his angel trying to be discrete, hiding behind a large newspaper as if they were the world’s worst spies as he passed him his food and he brightly turned towards him with a smile filled with love and adoration just to thank him.

But it was convenient and around the block from Shadwell’s apartment giving him little excuses to meet up with his employer, so he sat here waiting. He took a hesitant sip of the coco he had ordered by mistake (read: habit) before scrunching his nose in disgust. Sweet enough for a being of love and comfort but not bitter enough for a soul of darkness.

Just for a bit of chaos while he waiting, he dumped it to the ground and grinned in delight as a man’s expensive loafers squished into the mess, staining the once pure and holy white suede a dingy brown.

Shadwell finally found the decency to arrive when the large, stout man noticed the puddle he had stepped in and was screeching at the under paid teenage employee to do her damn job.

He was a sight, ragged army cloths he must have found second hand somewhere since as far as Crowley knew the man had never actually served in the military. He stuck out, like the stain on the man’s once clean and new shoes, the patrons around them in new and shiny designer cloths ready to hit the town, he looked like a homeless man who hadn’t bathed in a few weeks.

He couldn’t be older than thirty, yet he could easily pass as forty going off his unshaven face and ragged appearance. If Crowley cared more, maybe he would feel some pity for him, how did a run of the mill con man go to deranged witch hunter after only four years served in prison.

Crowley needed someone easy to use for this job though, his angel would always come first. He had bloodied and dirtied his hands for many reasons when it came to using mortals, this was likely the closest to selfless as he would ever come. He needed to know what was going on before he put in a plan to stopping it.

If it was demons harming Aziraphale, he would hand the idiot Shadwell some holy water and have him take care of the problem. If it was heaven, well that would be trickier but just the same he would have Shadwell dirty his hands there as well and try not to get involved to not upset Aziraphale. Third party, he could only assume someone who ranted and raved about hunting witches for sport could handle it all on his own without Crowley having to get involved anymore than he already was.

Shadwell was grumbling loudly about the man at the counter yelling at the employee as he stalked towards Crowley, shoulders stiff and his back straight like he was trying to make himself bigger to intimidate his potential employer. Crowley snickered at that thought, mortals had always tried to one up demons, but he had yet to learn of one who succeeded.

“Right on time, Sergeant,” Crowley drawled playfully raising his cup (now filled miraculously with black coffee) towards in the man in greeting.

Shadwell sneered at him, they both knew he was an hour late and he seemed like an honest enough man to not tolerate lies.

“Croissant?” he offered nodding his head towards the pastry he had no intention of eating, might as well not go to waste. He chuckled watching the man pull it towards himself not taking his eyes off the demon, sizing him up, wondering what his game was, what crime he might be getting himself into.

Witch hunting didn’t exactly pay the bills so to speak, even with a probation officer up his ass, Crowley knew the string of light burglaries were his handy work. 

“I will not be goin’ back to jail fer ya, Mister Crowley,” Shadwell sneered right off the bat, “I’mma changed man and I don’t do robberies anymore.”

“That’s good,” Crowley said taking an even sip of his coffee as Shadwell stuffed the pastry into his mouth with one mouthful, chewing and slobbering like a wild beast as he devoured the thing not taking his eyes off Crowley. It was moments like this Crowley missed Aziraphale the most, he ate everything like it was the most delicious delicacy ever created. Taking small bites and sighing gratefully with each chew, savoring every bit of it before swallowing in that gentle way he did.

“I am in no need for a petty crook, I need someone who specializes in getting rid of the supernatural.”

Shadwell glared at him, he had his attention at least, he slowed down chewing and pulled a flask from his jacket, taking an even sip of strong liquor to wash down the pastry.

“My client,” he paused a moment that was a strange way to address Aziraphale. His gentle smiles, his contagious laughter, a being so pure he could make a demon feel love. Aziraphale was the sun, the moon and the stars to Crowley, to hell with the rest. He would never have to spare a thing to get Crowley’s attention, but he didn’t need a mortal to know that.

“Has a bit of a witch problem,” Crowley had to force back his emotions thinking of the tattered blouse. How wan and thin Aziraphale had become, wasting away to nothing, not seeming to have the strength anymore to bounce back into his usual warm and soft form. His teeth ground behind pinched lips thinking of the dead stare he now held, staring into nothing and not answering Crowley for several moments, lost in his own pain.

“Isa witch or tempted by the devils?” Shadwell managed out, mouth still full of food that miraculously never hit Crowley.

Crowley felt like the more honest answer would probably be both, Aziraphale wasn’t human. He performed ‘magic’ such as some human witches, he supposed. And whatever was harming him was not human, it was either occult or ethereal.

Lying was woven into his DNA, into his essence, every word he said might as well be a lie it came so natural. So he lied through his teeth.

“Mr. Ezra Fell is being harassed by the supernatural, I do not know if it is necessarily a witch or not but I figure it’s the basic principal to getting rid of the problem whether it be ghost, demon, witch, what have you.” 

“How much are ya offering for this,” he said frowning hard and glaring towards Crowley, “I don’t intend to just go around giving away my services for free, I’m not a charity.”

“I didn’t expect you to, name yer price and I will pay it,” he paused setting down his coffee and looking straight into the man’s eyes making him squirm a little and his heart rate escalate being stared down by a demon.

“If and only if you do exactly as I pay you. Following my specific instructions. If Mr. Fell is harmed in any way while under your care, you do not get paid and if I don’t need your services, yer life may be in danger of being terminated as well, do we have an agreement?”

Shadwell stared at him a moment before taking a broken pen from his jacket and a (likely used) napkin from his pocket jotting down a number and sliding it to Crowley.

Crowley glanced down at the number, money was no problem for him, Shadwell could be asking for thousands of solid gold bricks each month and he would shrug and accept it. As is, he was underselling himself, too stupid and prideful to ask for any real profit for the work Crowley was about to put him through.

“Well?” Shadwell demanded after a moment.

Crowley nodded.

Shadwell gave him a large smile that showed off his crooked and yellow teeth before spitting in his hand and offering Crowley it. Crowley stared at the spit dripping onto the surface of the velvet red tablecloth for a moment before shrugging and spitting in his own hand before sealing the deal with a handshake.

Unknown to Shadwell, he had just entered a contract with a demon. From this moment on, Crowley effectively owned him and he had damned his own soul to hell for the price of the comforts that would come from working with said demon.

That was all just fine print though, Crowley had seen Shadwell’s record and heard the way he spoke to women, if he had never laid eyes on Crowley, he would still be damned to hell. The way Crowley saw it, he was just taking the easy road to Hell, a nice pleasant scenic view through life that just happened to end in a fiery pit.

From Crowley’s own experience, he could confirm you got used to the heat after awhile. Hell was turning more and more into a hotter purgatory the way upper management was handling things anyhow. Most demons grew tired of torturing souls after so many years and each year the lower level demons got lazier. Shadwell would be fine.

That is, Shadwell would be fine and live a life of complete luxury if and only if he assisted Crowley in making the only thing in this (read: his) universe worth giving a damn about safe and happy once more.

;

The rules were simple and Crowley said them multiple times before he even allowed Shadwell to exit the café. There was no way they could be misinterpreted even by someone like Shadwell who Crowley didn’t have the highest opinion on but for now he was the only one he could use for this purpose.

He was not allowed to intervene with Aziraphale or his normal business, keep a close eye on yes but he was to leave him alone unless he was in danger. The last thing Crowley wanted was to cause the angel (his angel) any more stress.

He had set things up where Shadwell could be close by at all times without it being suspicious, the little shop next door to the book shop had been hiring for months, Crowley convinced the shop keeper to give Shadwell the job.

How hard could stocking shelves and standing around an empty shop really be? He felt like he had convinced (snarled at and threatened) Shadwell to take the damn job then he had to force the elderly woman to take Shadwell into her flower shop.

He was to keep his eyes and ears on the book shop at all times, that was his top priority that was why Crowley was paying him. He could even pretend to be important, pretend to be James Bond or what ever inane fantasy Shadwell had to make himself feel more important guarding an honest to god angel in danger.

He was to give Crowley weekly reports, Crowley would contact him where they were going to meet and he would get paid then if Crowley felt he did a good enough job. If anything happened, if Mr. Fell became injured and needed assistance, if his abusers harmed him on Shadwell’s watch, he was to contact Crowley immediately.

He would never have to work again Crowley had promised if he managed to kill the beast who harmed Mr. Fell, Crowley would give him whatever his heart desired until the day he took his final breath.

With one little warning: Mr. Fell wasn’t to know he was involved, he was to lie if he was caught. If Mr. Fell found out, it might as well be called off.

Crowley knew Aziraphale’s pride and knew he would never agree to using mortals like this, but Crowley didn’t see another choice. Aziraphale wasn’t coming to him willingly with the information of what was going on and Crowley wasn’t losing him. Never again.

It had been six months since he had spoken to Aziraphale, he was waiting for the angel to call him first, go at his own pace. He lit up another cigarette and necked the wine bottle sitting on his couch and flipping through the channels on the tv.

He was drumming his fingers impatiently on the wine bottle and letting ash collect in his mustache as he tipped his head back and inhaled. The loud echo of the audience’s laughter echoed from the TV as he pinched the bub between his fingers, extinguishing the last of the flame before flicking it across the room.

He glanced at the stack of reports Shadwell had given him, load of nothing, just ramblings about how much Shadwell disliked his angel and how they often got into petty fights over where Shadwell was allowed to spray his hose when watering the plants. Shadwell was at least giving Aziraphale something to do, something to keep his mind off his pain. Shadwell was eating at the angel’s patience by the sound of it, bringing out the bastard side of him, Shadwell was now convinced he was the witch in this scenario.

Crowley had made it clear he wasn’t allowed to touch Aziraphale and he wondered how long that threat would last, Shadwell was a stubborn bastard himself.

The kitchen phone was ringing loudly, Crowley tossed the empty bottle in the rubbish bin as he made his way to the phone. He answered it gruffly, it had to be Shadwell, he didn’t have anything else going on lately.

Crowley swore to someone that if he called him again to tattle on Aziraphale ‘using his witch powers’ on him again, he was going to explode on the man tonight.

He opened his mouth to tell him as such when he was cut off by the other man.

“Yer southern pansy had one of his witch covens tonight.”

Crowley took a deep breath and exhaled hard from his nostrils, black smoke exhaling. That’s what he referred to angels visiting. Gabriel wasn’t exactly good at pretending to be human and after one too many strange incidents while he was around, Shadwell had begun to call him the leader of the coven.

“Is it still going on?”

“The coven leader left,” Crowley nodded, that was good since last reports he noted he didn’t see Gabriel leave. It was becoming suspicious Crowley he was the only one who ever entered the shop and after his visits it was noted the petty feud between Shadwell and Aziraphale entered a hiatus. Aziraphale wouldn’t leave for a few days afterward and the shop wouldn’t open.

“Anything of substance occur tonight?”

There was a snarl from Shadwell at that remark, he thought every report was pertinent and important no matter how mundane and always took offense. Crowley merely rolled his eyes. He lit a cigarette and held it between his teeth listening to Shadwell ramble about how he didn’t like Gabriel and didn’t like Aziraphale much either and how he was certain they were both witches. He was rambling about nipples when Crowley cut him off.

“I don’t care what you do to the Coven Leader as you call him,” he stated firmly, “But Fell is off the table. I don’t care how many bloody nipples you think he has and you are not to check. Do we have an understanding?”

Shadwell, unable to disagree with the demon he had entered a contract with becoming a bit of witch himself ironically, mumbled out a ‘yes sir’ and the nights meeting was adjured. Crowley slammed the phone back down on the receiver and went back to watching Three is Company.

He thought of popping in on Aziraphale himself, forcing the truth out of him, forcing him to admit he was in trouble but he let the thought die by the end of the theme song of his show. He needed to be patient.


	9. the calm before the storm

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll try to be back for the more darker chapter soon and the return of Crowley.

-1977-

Winter had come and with it brought large blankets of snow that coated the streets of Soho.

Some days, Aziraphale had to wonder if he detested the cold or the heat more, with his old furnace finally on its death bed forcing him into his rarely used bed, he was beginning to miss the heat of summer. He could at least strip his cloths off then to enjoy a bath, he felt he didn’t have enough clothing to ward off the cold now.

He was pulling on his favorite jumper, fluffy and made from freshly peeled sheep wool and a lovely golden-brown color that went well with his thickest beige wind breaker. His long johns were itchy and it always took a bit of self-control on his part to not dig at them but with the snow outside they were needed.

He debated if the earmuffs were really necessary a moment before tossing them aside and wrapping his favorite tartan scarf around his neck, tightening it to be warm but to stay professional looking.

After a thorough inspection in his full body mirror, ruffling out all his unwanted creases and making certain he looked clean and presentable, he walked down to his shop. He snapped and the lights came on and the open sign appeared.

He glanced at his grandfather clock, it was a little past three am, it was highly unlikely he would see anyone. He smiled and wiggled his hips in triumph and began sorting the books around hoping that would get his mind off the chill.

He just couldn’t stay in bed, it was making him restless. He needed so desperately to do something and anything would do at this point, even opening the shop and tempting rude and pushy book collectors in to harass him.

He smiled running his fingers gently down the cover of ‘A Tale of Two Cities’ and moved it towards the front, it was published 1960, it wouldn’t hurt to lose it. He would only sell it to someone he would appreciate a classic though, there would be no selling to someone who was going to harm it. Aziraphale had standards, despite what most would tell you, he was quite happy to share his books and their knowledge with others but he didn’t appreciate when people brought harm to his books.

Bought them to toss them in drawers, bought them to destroy, or anything of the like. He always knew the types, he had chased off his share of people who thought it would be proper to buy a book and then cut into it to hide illegal substances and that just wouldn’t do.

If there was no love in your heart for literature and learning, Aziraphale figured you could take yourself to someone else’s bookstore. 

He kept himself busy, moving piles of books, sorting them until they were in an orderly mess no sane mind could work out, and only briefly stopping to read passages from the new lot of books he hadn’t gotten to yet. Edgar Allen Poe had been on his shelves for years, but he still felt he didn’t give the man his total respect, only read through his poetry once. Such a shame, he would need something a little melancholier for the cold days ahead.

He was just sliding the last of the Jane Austin Collection next to a series of young adult books when he finally registered his old clock chiming.

He walked around a shelf and stared at the old clock, nine on the dot, just in time to shut down the shop for the day. He felt quite proud of himself for missing the entire Saturday rush by closing before most humans (and most demons at that) even managed to pull themselves out of bed. 

He checked a mirror in the back room to make sure he was still presentable before stepping out of the shop and proudly putting up the closed sign. He had the strangest hours on the block, he was open normally 9 to 5 but had days that bent the rule such as Wednesdays, Fridays and Saturdays with an odd 3am to 9am and 1045pm to 1am.

It was always up in the air when Holiday hours would be and Sundays were always closed.

He didn’t hate customers, but he truly did believe only worthy people deserved his books and sometimes you needed to be tested. His heart sunk at that thought, feeling Gabriel’s ghost fingers on his wrists with such bruising force it made his head spin, he took a deep gulp of air before locking up.

He glared towards a large pile up of snow in front of his shop, glancing towards the other shops entrances he noticed immediately they didn’t seem to have this same problem. Someone had deliberately done this.

He tightened his fists and turned a stern glare towards Shadwell, here early for once and shoveling snow away from the flower shop and throwing a large pile in front of his own shop.

“I ain’t got nothin’ ta say ta you,” Shadwell sneered towards him pausing his shoveling, “Yer witch curses aren’t going to effect me.”

“Dear sir,” Aziraphale ground out through a forced pleasant smile, “Witch curses are to be the least of your concerns if I return to this blockade of ice in front of my door.”

Shadwell snarled towards him, broadening his shoulders trying to put some sort of fear of god into the angel. Aziraphale didn’t stand down, he just narrowed his eyes back at him. Aziraphale was a warrior of the almighty, he might have given his sword away but that didn’t mean he didn’t know how to use it. He may not have fought in the great rebellion, but he had sat at King Arthur’s Court and had fought mortals for years, he was not afraid to fight the man.

He didn’t like fighting; it was barbaric and a waste of his time and he was needlessly putting his corporal form through abuse but if Shadwell wished to fight this ‘witch’ he was going to get it.

“Shadwell!”

They both turned their attention to sweet Mrs. Doyle, she hit the glass as she hurried out, despite the large owl eyeglasses, the poor woman hadn’t been able to see right since 1960.

“Oh, my dear, you have made quite a mess of poor Mr. Fell’s walkway! Be a good lad and clean it up.”

The human and angel gave each other a snide look but each was kindhearted enough to give Mrs. Doyle kind smiles and Shadwell, who must not have been a complete brute, did as he was asked from the kind woman.

;

Aziraphale bought coco and croissants from the bakery two blocks down, it was a little further, but he needed to be as far away from Shadwell as possible today. That man really knew how to set off his nerves (which wasn’t hard these days admittedly).

It was Crowley’s favorite café, he found himself missing his dear demon as he sat in the back and sipped slowly from his drink.

Truly, it was for the best they didn’t see each other though.

Outside he saw a chorus of carolers and they were quite loud (a bit off key as well) with their rendition of Here Comes Santa Clause that as slowly drifting into an ear wrenching take on Holy Night.

Controversially, he wasn’t fond of Christmas tunes. It felt he should be a fan, he was an angel after all and many carols reveled in singing praise of angels and holy spirits and Her and Her son.

But for one, historically, Her son was not born during the winter solstice, Aziraphale would know, he was present. Secondly, there was such a depressing melody to so many of these songs for a time of year that was supposed to be joyous. Half of them sounded like a funeral march and the other half were just too gawdy and sounded like awful show tunes.

He could give it some praise, it helped ease the heart ache he had for the demon, it helped him forget Gabriel would be here tonight.

Just for a moment he could snort frustrated through his nostrils at the horrid sounds from outside and not feel the dull ache nor the dread. Anger (or frustration in this case) was a better thing to feel compared to the pain.

;

Aziraphale gritted his teeth and kept the sob back as sat in Gabriel’s lap and Gabriel held his hips tight, forcing Aziraphale up and down at a sickening pace. Bruising his hips harder and re-opening his still healing wounds on his back, blood finally dripping to his bottom as Gabriel came, smacking his hand hard across Aziraphale’s back side just to add to utter humiliation of it all. 

He buried his head into Gabriel’s coat jacket and grit his teeth, breathing hard against the fabric trying to get a grip on himself. Gabriel seemed to enjoy this, running his fingers playfully over the re-opened wounds, digging his fingers into his poor corporal form’s skin and helping it bleed more profusely.

“How strange,” he almost hummed, “Your corporation isn’t healing itself like it did last time.”

Aziraphale didn’t know if he would ever be able to form words again, so he said nothing, he just let Gabriel do as he wished. 

“You must be holding sinful thoughts keeping you from being truly forgiven,” Gabriel tutted almost tenderly, almost like a hawk that had just caught the mouse that would be his lunch. Hungrily, he bit down into Aziraphale’s shoulder, until a steady stream of his corporal form’s red blood oozed out, dripping along with the golden red blood of his true form, of his essence, on to the pale tan couch forming a stain that would never truly come up.

Aziraphale found himself focusing more on the stain he knew in his heart just wouldn’t come out then the pain.

;

Hours later after Gabriel had left, he crept to the kitchen to get a spot of tea to relax his nerves, he was restless. He wanted to just curl in his bed with the blankets until he was warm once more but couldn’t find it in him to do that.

His back was still swollen from Gabriel aggravating the healing wounds and he didn’t want the itchy feeling of wool getting into them, so he didn’t bother to get dressed.

He crept down the stairs of his shop, not proudly as he did days earlier, no he had been able to pretend things were going to get better then. He glanced at the billowing stacks of books that he had unshelved when he was in a lighter mood and couldn’t find the energy to pretend he knew how he was going to resort them now, so he left the piles by the shelves and made his way to the kitchen.

He had always liked the kitchen downstairs before, by his back room where he once spent all his time, now that he was spending more and more time upstairs, he hated that he was constantly having to travel down here for tea.

He sighed seeing the dishes piled up, he really should just miracle them clean and put away but he just didn’t care. What a strange feeling to not care about something. Aziraphale fretted about everything, it was odd to just stare at your dirty kitchen and think it didn’t matter.

Well it didn’t matter until Aziraphale realized he didn’t have any cups without mold in them to pour any tea into.

He picked up his favorite cup, the little white one Crowley had given to him for Christmas a few years back. How the little wrapped box with angel wrapping paper had made his heart sink and a blush creep across his face. Crowley had sneered at him he wasn’t nice and was very convincing about his heist to steal from needy children and how he didn’t want this one, might as well give it to Aziraphale to get him to stop moping.

Aziraphale ran his finger over the wing thinking of the demon, thinking of his smug smiles, the gentle way he held him, how he never once forced him to do anything. His thoughts violently flipping to Gabriel, ripping his clothing off, forcing himself inside him, Gabriel watching with a sadistic gleam in his eye as Sandalphon lashed him until there was barely any skin left on his back, Gabriel holding him down as he twitched weakly and inviting Sandalphon to penetrate him from behind---

He screamed loudly, anger swelling in him, he threw the mug hard at the wall before picking up another glass from the sink and one by one throwing all his unwashed and molding poor, defenseless mugs that didn’t deserve this treatment at the wall.

He dropped to his knees all at once regretting his actions, picking up one of the broken angel wings and holding it close to his chest and letting the tears weakly run down.

“Gabriel always means best,” he whispered to himself, “He’s helping, he really is.”

“I’m sinful and dirty and impure,” he gasped out through his sobs, he hated himself. He hated that he drove Gabriel to doing this.

He left the mess the way it was and trudged back upstairs, shaking and gasping for air he didn’t need.

;

Aziraphale hadn’t left his shop in a few days nor had he left his bed in that time frame and he had to wonder if it was as noticeable to everyone around him as it was to him. He inspected his reflection firmly as he sat in the back of the café nursing his tea. His cloths weren’t wrinkled, he would never live with the shame of coming out like that, but they didn’t look as freshly pressed as they should either.

Nervously he twisted his pinky ring, just staring out the window watching the snow lazily fall and the people slip and slide on the icy sidewalk. He turned his head away as he saw a poor man fall rather hard on his rear end and no one stopped to help him up.

He felt hung over and he must have looked it too the way the waitress was looking at him, gently refilling his cup without him even having to ask her to do so. He smiled towards her and mumbled a thank you and the young woman returned the smile.

That was the cleaner’s daughter, Mary, he reminded himself. Sweet girl, saving up to move to America of all places, she had dreams of Hollywood and living in star studded California. Poor thing, that was going to end in tragedy.

He flexed his fingers to get the shakes from them before primly picking up his teacup once more and taking a sip from it, taking in the warmth. It soothed his aches and made him feel alert once more. He set a few extra pounds on the table before rising, adjusting his scarf before pushing his chair in and heading for the door.

“Hold up, Mr. Fell!” Mary called out waving her hand at him, pausing her order with another customer, “I have something for you!”

She hurriedly rushed around the older gentleman she had been serving and rushed back to the kitchen, the man behind the counter hissing at her in displeasure as she rushed past him.

He awkwardly stood between the door and two empty tables in the small little café, waiting for the young woman not wanting to appear rude. She was back quick enough, her dark braids swaying to and fro as she rushed up to the angel.

She held a box of pastries to go, something that made Aziraphale frown, he tried to tell the girl he hadn’t ordered any food today, just the tea but she cut him off.

“Its on the house, Mr. Fell,” she said firmly thrusting the box into his hands, “It’s the least I can do fer ya after ya helped mum get those blood thirsty bankers out of her shop.”

He smiled and said a gentle thank you to the girl who had everything to lose with this kind gesture but did it merely because that’s what mortals did. They took care of and looked out for each other.

Sometimes he thought of falling, but truthfully, he would much prefer to be human. Clumsy, awkward humans who despite their flaws always tried their best. Humans were capable of becoming better, of changing in Her eyes.

He didn’t truly think he was capable of that kind of change somedays and the fact that his back had yet to heal after nearly a year of his second (more brutal and terrifying) bleeding.


	10. Shadwell's Encounters With The Supernatural

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The chapter where the plot picks up and Shadwell is confused, annoyed and a little afraid.

-1978-

Rolling tobacco was messy, Shadwell never had the finesse to get it just right, it always ended up cracking at the edges of his sloppily rolled blunt after he lit up. It made him feel like a yank, one of those cowboys John Wayne played, it made him feel like a real man. Messy or not, you just couldn’t get that proper feeling from store bought pre rolled sticks.

Currently Shadwell found himself freezing his arse off, stomping his feet in the Soho streets, a few blocks from his home and long walk ahead of him in this weather. His frost bit fingers shook and stumbled and ended up dropping his third half rolled smoke.

“Good lord Shadwell, it is bellow 30 out here,” he sneered towards Fell as he came around the corner, hands full with pastries and bags from the market. Great southern pansy had that self-important look on his face, maybe some would call it concern but the two mutually despised each other too much for it to be that.

“And here you are, sitting out here, no gloves, only one layer of clothing and looking ready to catch your death.”

Shadwell sneered at him, stomping his foot like a petulant child just to be petty, getting satisfaction from the flare of nostrils.

“Well I’m not that immature and petty to let you sit out here and let you freeze to death, please follow me to my shop. I shall warm you and call you a cab.”

The obscene and rude insult was there, it was stuck on his tongue. It was ugly and nasty and his mind was twisting it around to make it worse. It only came out as a ‘hmph’ though, he was getting a royal paycheck to spy on the foppish man before him. If he wished to willingly allow him into his home, he should take the opportunity. 

Shadwell had to admit though, it wasn’t all about Mr. Crowley and his obsessions with this witch and his coven, it might also have something to do with the witch’s curses. The way he eyed him down and pompously straightened his shoulders and turned his head towards his shop just in the corner of his eyes like that, there was no telling Mr. Fell no.

“Be a good man and get the door for me, its unlocked.”

That was not a request and Shadwell was keeping his eyes firmly on the witch the entire time as he stepped around the man and grasped the doorknob.

“It will not explode, I can guarantee it,” Fell chuckled but there was an edge of impatience to his voice, his meaning was clear, open the door now and I swear there shall be hell to pay if I drop a single one of my groceries to get the door myself. The witch was merely too polite to be outright with his threats.

“Please make yourself,” he paused a moment as he lead him to a back area of the shop barely giving Shadwell a moment to get a good look at the book piles scattered around the room, Fell was in the middle of redecorating it seemed, “Comfortable. I shall return with tea in a moment and get the furnace working to get the chill off you.”

There was a harsh chill in the shop, not as intense as outside but it was doing nothing to warm Shadwell up. He sat down on the couch, propping his leg up on the coffee table, frowning at the papers that piled around the place. A sea of crumpled paper scattered across the antique carpet and large stacks on the desk, a fresh page hanging from the type writer and it looked like the ink had yet to dry on the parchment he had been working on with the large feather still dripping with ink.

“Calligraphy,” Fell answered his silent question entering the room with a tray stacked with snacks and two cups, “I have been practicing lately, I have brought it upon myself to restore some rather old documents and I want to keep the authenticity about them.”

“The pot is on the stove, the water shall be boiled in a moment, but I think you need something to help warm up a bit sooner. I was saving my brandy but what better way to start off a new year then patching up our relationship with some brandy.” 

“I have been just…a right bastard to you and that isn’t fair of me. I am truly sorry for being rude to you these past few months.”

He paused, moving towards his desk, opening a cabinet that had an impressive amount of booze stashed in it and pulled out a bottle with no label on it in a beautiful amber bottle that sparkled and gleamed as he held it towards the light. He nodded at his own choice before pouring a glass for each of them, serving them both a slice of the rich looking delicately crafted chocolate cake and placed it in front of Shadwell who just eyed it. He had no plans of ingesting anything a witch was serving him.

As if sensing his thoughts, Fell took a drink of the freshly poured whiskey and then a bite from the cake. Closing his eyes and savoring the flavor, his wan and pale cheeks regaining color almost instantly from the small action sending a tremor of fear down Shadwell’s spine.

He remembered Crowley’s warnings about harming Fell, being poisoned by a witch might be less painful then his mysterious employer finding out he hurt the bloody witch’s feelings, so he took a hesitant sip of the whiskey.

It instantly warmed him, a pleasant and strong warmth traveling through him like stepping in front of a bright fireplace after coming in from a blizzard.

Shadwell truthfully didn’t have the best knowledge of went down from there, once he started drinking he had a tendency to not stop so easily and only had vague memories of trying to use his bell to cast evil spirits away from Fell and when it did nothing bursting out laughing. He remembered Fell showing him a coin trick, he didn’t remember how it went, but it was some kind of proof he wasn’t a real witch and magic the way he thought of it wasn’t real.

He woke with a pounding head on Fell’s floor, a pile of blankets on him and a throw pillow covered in gawdy pink roses nestled under his head. He cringed hard at the music playing from the other room, old fashioned but lively swing music.

He walked into the next room to find Fell organizing the books, he wished him good morning and explained how Mrs. Doyle didn’t plan to open shop today before dragging him to breakfast.

Shadwell wasn’t entirely sure how it happened, really, he wasn’t but he may have just befriended the witch he was supposed to be spying on.

;

“Ah, Mister Shadwell, yer late tonight.”

He sneered at the jezebel as he stomped into the door and began marching upstairs not giving the woman any mind. He was still rather hung over from the night before with the bloody witch and didn’t need to waste his time with another sinful creature, he had already spent his day being bossed around by a pushy pansy. 

Crepes, he made him take a three hour train ride for Crepes because he was offended Shadwell didn’t like the bloody things.

“Not now, Jezebel,” he grumbled feeling the woman hurrying up the stairs behind him, not done with him yet, not ready to allow him to just go pass out in his bed.

“But Mister Shadwell!” He opened his door and immediately slammed it in the woman’s face.

“Now that wasn’t very gentlemanly of you.”

He sneered at Crowley; he felt the poor abused blood vessels in his brain implode on themselves at the frustration of finding his employer here. The whore of Sodom had let him in and he would make sure to have words with her on this matter later about this. This was his space, she wasn’t the landlord, she didn’t get this kind of control.

He shut down his thoughts of the woman who had the decency to try to warn him and turned his hardest glare on the man in front of him. He was helping himself to his last ale, his feet kicked up on the coffee stand and tongue licking his parchment paper and using the last of the tobacco he had in stock.

He offered one of the finely wrapped blunts to Shadwell and he snatched it with a sneer but refused to sit down, just keeping his glare on him. Watching him closely as he lit up his cigarette and then Shadwell’s.

“What the fuc—”

Crowley cut him off, shaking his head and firmly commanding him to sit down next to him. Shadwell felt a fear swirling in his stomach as he did as he was told, his body not listening to his mind that commanded him not to sit next to his employer.

“I have been meaning to drop by but been in America. Had to go out source my talents, so I do apologize profusely for the radio silence on my part.”

Shadwell sneered, the checks had cleared, and he hadn’t had seen the man since Christmas and it was nearly the end of January now. It was a right gift to not see the weird man if you asked Shadwell. He didn’t question where the man had been and he didn’t care.

“How is Mr. Fell holding up?”

There was a genuine concern there, sometimes Shadwell thought he imagined it, but he must not. Why would someone go to such great lengths for someone they barely knew after all, Crowley was paying him top dollar to just watch the man. A chore in and of itself most days.

“He has been inviting me in the shop more since New Years Eve, don’t have many kind words for the pansy but he can handle his whiskey and I can’t say I mind his cooking much.”

Crowley chuckled flicking ash on his couch with very little regard for Shadwell’s property making him bristle but he truly felt unable to argue with him. Maybe there was a little bit of witch in Mr. Crowley as well, mayhap he and Fell were from the same Coven.

“He is an angel that man, sometimes it takes time to get past his prissy demeaner but he’s…”

A pause and a long drag of the cigarette followed by an impressive ring of smoke that hung in the air with the pause.

“Well he’s something amazing in any case.”

He dug in his jacket, pulling out a parcel wrapped in a velvet black cloth passing it to Shadwell who without hesitation took it. It felt weightless in his hands but there was a stiff aura about it that weighed down on his very soul, making his hands shake. He tried to drop the object but found himself unable to do so.

“What am I paying you now?”

Shadwell opened his mouth to answer but Crowley had already waved him off, a fine line of smoke wafting about as he moved his hand, the cigarette ash flying about.

“Never mind, it doesn’t matter, I will see to it that you live in a castle if you fancy with a real army of make believe witch hunters if you complete this task.”

Shadwell opened his mouth once more to ask but Crowley once more silenced him with a gesture, the ash feeling like brimstone and the match he lit to light himself a new cigarette felt like the fires of hell burning inches away from Shadwell. The grin that showed off his pointed, fang like teeth chorusing with the souls of the damned it felt making Shadwell’s heart raise.

“Why, what I hired you from the start to do,” he said turning his head towards Shadwell, sunglasses sinking down his nose as he moved revealing demonic like eyes that made Shadwell’s heart stop momentarily in fear and shock.

“That dagger,” he said gesturing his head towards the object clasped tightly in Shadwell’s trembling hands, “Wasn’t easy to get. Had to jump through some impressive hoops to get it but it is what you need for the job.”

Another pause and another ring of smoke and another flick of ash, all surrounding and choking Shadwell in his panic.

“Find out when the Coven Leader comes next then kill him. Call me once the job is done and inform me how Mr. Fell is holding up.”

He got up to leave, leaving a trembling and terrified Shadwell where he sat on the couch.

“Oh and ya know, just forget about the whole me paying you to do this at all, just think of it as you killing your first monster.”

Another pause, he scratched his red mustache in thought and tapped at the side of his face a moment.

“Just think of this whole thing like a dream actually. Lay down,” Shadwell found himself lying back, “Close yer eyes,” he did so, “Relax and have pleasant dreams, you really earned it. You are saving a real angel, the only one who bloody means a damn in Heaven.”

Right before drifting off to sleep he heard faintly a now unfamiliar voice snap his fingers and say:

“He’s angelic, a real heavenly being, that’s what I meant to say.”


	11. Intermission: Gabriel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gabriel's POV and his thoughts on Aziraphale

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright so this chapter was actually super hard to write and I'm not super proud of it. 
> 
> But its done, so whatev. 
> 
> Also, I know its a popular theory Crowley is Raphael but I want to clear it up now, he's not in this fic.

Gabriel had lived through the great war and had committed many acts that would make mortals question his status as a warrior of God. Questions, had and always would be a slippery slope to falling from divine grace and Gabriel had always liked it that way.

Gabriel never intended to have a sexual relationship with Aziraphale and had for a brief moment wondered if it was crossing a line that might indeed call for his own fall, but that had changed in a split second.

In 1862, he had sat primly behind Aziraphale’s messy desk, listening to a shocked and dazed Aziraphale gasp out prayers begging for forgiveness he never needed to earn. 

He dug through Aziraphale’s desk drawers, the gasped prayers and cries were growing tiresome. It was about everything he expected, quills, parchment, half written reports (this draft in particular was on the importance of doing something about the growing number of factories and people being practically enslaved to them due to debt made Gabriel role his eyes, industrialization was part of the ineffable plan and sometimes people must suffer for it) and---

He paused, eyebrow rising.

He knew Aziraphale was tempted and swayed easily to sin (really he was doing him a favor making him bleed now before Heaven had more reason to demand his fall) but this letter to someone named Oscar Wilde was dripping with sin. It was easy to read between the lines, this went past flirting and almost into seduction territory. This was a letter to make Hell proud, something a demon would say to a human to get them to go to their side, not something an angel should say to a mortal.

Gabriel had never really thought about sex before this point, it never seemed immoral per say, just unnecessary. He didn’t need to breed; he was not mortal. He didn’t love selfishly like demons or mortals or lowly angels like Aziraphale. He held a general compassion for life and his deepest love would always be for Her, but it had never gone deeper than that.

There was a small red bound book under a fake bottom in a drawer to the right, frowning Gabriel opened it up and began skimming through it. It was mainly Aziraphale’s thoughts. He always forgot how humans described these things, in their mother language things such as this were one thing, here they were called…journals! That was it. Books for private thoughts.

Fears of fellow angels not liking him (not untrue), recipes mortals gave him, things he missed that were falling out of style with the mortals, a lot of thoughts on someone called DC, a lot of boring thoughts from a boring angel. He finally paused, he had come across Aziraphale’s sexual thoughts. Things confirming he sometimes thought of having relationships with people he shouldn’t. How he sometimes felt a pang of jealousy for someone named Bosie and how he didn’t deserve such a devoted and beautiful mind like Oscar Wilde’s. 

These were very detailed fantasies, Gabriel always thoughts Aziraphale lacked creativity, but this proved otherwise.

His smile grew and he let out a small ‘wow’, as Aziraphale described how he wished to suckle the man’s penis.

Where was this imagination when Gabriel had been teaching him to fight? It was always a ball of anxiety stumbling around being shoved down by his superior officer, no real grace to his steps, always tumbling over himself, cowering when Gabriel would bring his sword down inches from his face. 

Corporations were becoming a new fad in Heaven once the humans began arriving and taking their places in the ranks of angels (humans were only good for one thing as far as either side was concerned and that was filling in ranks for their armies) to help ease them. Their true forms seemed to scare them. They were annoying and always felt like they limited what they were capable of but they always felt like they would do. You didn’t exactly need a thousand glowing eyes to do paperwork.

Something began to shift in his corporation he had never felt the need to explore till now, his pants getting tighter. He glanced down and realized he put in effort without realizing it and Aziraphale’s rambling pose about the things he would try if only he could was doing it to him.

Why not give him what he wanted? He was here to relieve his pent-up frustrations and need to break lose.

He couldn’t keep bleeding Aziraphale’s true form, he knew the risks from that, Sandalphon loved bleeding angels and had missed the practice. Gabriel was willing to let him but only when it was monitored.

This, however, didn’t have as many risks and he was on Earth. It was neither holy as Heaven nor as Sinful as Hell, it was a neutral zone no one cared about. No one really paid attention to. It was just the sight of the up coming battle. No one would care if Gabriel tried out their corporations here. It really wasn’t a sin like the humans thought.

;

Michael was not one for nonsense.

If there was anyone who would spot something marginally enjoyable and try to put an immediate stop to it, it would be his fellow archangel. They had been like that since the death of Raphael, Gabriel remembered a time they were more tolerant of finding a relief to ‘the day to day grind’ (a phrase he had heard muttered among mortals during his time visiting Aziraphale) but as of now, they were not. If it didn’t contribute to moving along the ineffable plan and bringing upon the war to end all wars, best not mention it around them.

Imagine Gabriel’s surprise when Michael seemed rather curious about the things he did with Aziraphale. He hadn’t seen them curiously looking at him like this since the time of true peace, before the rebellion and before Raphael was ripped from them leaving the archangels fragmented.

“I must know, is it enjoyable?”

Gabriel gave his biggest, innocent smile and hummed out a ‘what?’

They glanced towards their closed office door and saw snapped their fingers for an extra bit of precaution.

“Using your corporation…in a sexual nature?”

Gabriel winked to his sibling and they gave him a chuckle, they were curious but uninterested in the notion of sex or what it pertained. They were interested to know how it made their sibling feel, they knew of his frustrations, they all had them, but he hadn’t been sparring lately and discorporating new recruits. He had been happy, something none of the archangels had truly been since the rebellion had left them cracked.

He continued his business with his sibling, the demons were getting ridiculous with their demands. They dared to ask for peace offerings now, PEACE OFFERINGS, after the mess they had created. Wanting cease fires in locations, wanting, wanting, wanting, trying to claim Earth was practically their home turf, so they should call the shots here of what was and wasn’t acceptable of angels to be doing.

One demon gets smited with holy water from a new recruit and all of a sudden it was the archangels’ jobs to soothe their anger.

He walked out of Michael’s office and let his smile drop and a snarl emerge, clenching his fists. The only release he could feel for this blunder was knowing the recruit in question had been sentenced to death by hell fire, would be sent down stairs in the morning and Aziraphale was always there.

Sparring was always an excellent way to release aggression but something about having complete control on someone you didn’t particularly like and were able to do as you pleased with them was just, there were no words in the mother tongue or any Earth language to describe how it made him feel. He hated having to negotiate with that stuck up, rude and nasty fly prince, he hated being in their presence and he hated his sibling had to associate with one their operatives to keep the ineffable plan running smoothly.

Maybe it was demonly to wish pain on Aziraphale but the almighty did gift him to he and his siblings after their victory in the rebellion and their loss of Raphael, so why was it wrong to do what he wanted with him?

He wasn’t useful anywhere else. He was a horrendous solider, he was a sloppy spy and his healing skills (though better than most Gabriel would begrudgingly admit) were never going to be up to snuff as Raphael’s were. Aziraphale was nothing. 

His snarl dropped seeing Uriel approach him, he brought his smile back, he would only give this kindness to his siblings. They were the only ones who deserved his respect and compassion and he had yet to be proven otherwise.

“Gabriel,” they greeted curtly as always but there was a hesitance in their voice, a nervousness that did not belong there.

“Uriel, whatever is the matter?”

“I’m worried about you,” they admitted gently, it was rare for either to be intimate but in this empty hallway with the only one near by being their other sibling, Uriel didn’t seem afraid to touch their hand to his chest. Gabriel felt their worry, it was strong and like an electric shock to his core. He shook with them as they transferred over their fear Gabriel would fall, their fear they would lose their sibling, how they could never survive it after Raphael.

He cupped Uriel’s cheek, running his thumb gently over the tears that glistened and placed a gentle kiss on their cheek.

“I promise Uriel,” he whispered, “It’s good for Aziraphale. I will not allow him to die as our Raphael did. I’m making him acceptable for us, more like us, worthy of our love so we can finally accept him as ours.”

“Please,” Uriel whispered a hoarse sound, “I wish to love Aziraphale for the almighty made him to make up for our loss, but he is…”

“Unworthy,” Gabriel mumbled back knowing what his sibling meant, he was incompetent and selfish, falling into sins too quickly, more human then angel and it was a disgusting sight. Perhaps breaking him was the only way to rebuild him and Gabriel getting pleasure from this great favor he did for his fellow angel couldn’t be monstrous. He was still just and he was still righteous.

Even if those were lies, the almighty didn’t stop him, so even She must agree he was doing him a favor.

“I don’t care for Aziraphale, I could never replace what we lost with someone like him but I do not wish you to fall because you killed an angel.”

“I promise you Uriel, I will not do that often, only when I feel Aziraphale truly deserves it and he hasn’t,” he said gently cupping their face, “I am just getting all his impulses for sin under control now. I am making him a proper replacement for our sibling as the almighty wanted when she created someone like him so soon after our loss. Maybe she wanted us to use a rough hand all along and that is why a being such as he never fell despite not fitting into our mold.”

Uriel gave him a brief hug before pulling away as an intern approached looking to them curiously.

“Michael and I need you, don’t do anything stupid.” 

;

Gabriel liked the arrangement that had cropped over the next hundred years, he would be gentle to Aziraphale when he behaved and got a strange satisfaction out of being the only source the comfort the lesser angel would have. It made him feel holy, not as holy as when he slayed demons or comforted his siblings, but it made him feel righteous.

He rewarded Aziraphale when he was good and only tried to hurt him when he felt he deserved it or if it was a particularly frustrating day in the office training former humans to be proper angels or dealing with Hell’s nonsense.

He felt he should feel guilty this arrangement spawned from the lie that the almighty was calling for Aziraphale’s fall, but truthfully, he didn’t. He just felt more frustrated at Aziraphale for being that foolish and trusting. Questioning was a dangerous route to take, but even before the rebellion it wasn’t looked down upon from Her to use common sense. Gabriel was convinced this was the only purpose Aziraphale could ever hope to have, pleasing him, maybe one day pleasing his siblings in another fashion, he wasn’t fit to fight or use his own judgments in war.

He was only meant to serve and the almighty did create him to help the archangels recover from the grief of Raphael being ripped from them.

He was thinking this through as he flipped through Death’s latest reports, who was to be recruited to Heaven’s army from Earth and who was to be dropped to the demon’s bellow when Sandalphon entered his office.

He respected Sandalphon more then most, might even consider him a friend, if angels had friends. He was a loyal solder and more then that, he was a useful tool for the upcoming battle.

He had been quite fond of the concept of bleeding for forgiveness back in the day. He had convinced Gabriel it was needed if he wanted to really make Aziraphale feel like he would fall if he kept going down the path he was and well it had worked. Aziraphale had straightened up considerably well since then. Not quite what he should be as an angel of Heaven, but he was very good at helping Gabriel and that was closer to being useful then he ever was before.

“Do we have many in our ranks this year?”

Gabriel let out a deep growl at that, they hadn’t had a good number of souls since 1850, it felt like less and less were worthy to enter Heaven with each year that passed. The latest blunder of losing one of their own grunts to Hell for a public execution after the angel had killed a demon without going through the proper channels first breaking ten different peace treaties just made it worse. They were going to lose the war before it came along if Hell continued to outnumber them like this.

“I have never tried out sex with my corporal form, would it be fine if I tested it out…?”

Gabriel chucked to that, Sandalphon didn’t know what subtly was. He smited the same as he made small talk, no finesse and not bothering to beat around the bush as the mortals would say. He got straight to the point, crushing down his meaning just as hard and fast as he would strike with his sword.

“Aziraphale is well behaved,” Gabriel hummed almost playfully, “I always promise to be kind and gentle when he behaves.”

“What about testing him? That’s allowed isn’t it?”

Gabriel just chuckled, he had never watched another touch Aziraphale as he did. He had taken it upon himself to research porn and how the mortals did this thing just to keep this game he had made for himself fun and fresh but he never thought of watching from a distance as someone else touched Aziraphale. It felt strange.

He finally relented, he was curious how Aziraphale would react to that truthfully and he needed to get his mind off business.

;

Aziraphale was very, very good at pleasing Gabriel.

He was well trained and never denied Gabriel anything, he didn’t have to ask most of the time, he just snapped his fingers and he would get it sometimes felt.

Gabriel wasn’t a fool, he could see the outwards fear still there on Aziraphale’s face as he undressed for him, the shuddering breath and the no being gulped down. Aziraphale didn’t want this and maybe never had but it stopped him from doing it with anyone else.

He had tried, not too long ago, to have an affair with a mortal. He found his little note asking him for a night of sin and he had come home drunk, swaggering on his feet and smelling of sin. Gabriel had felt such an intense anger at Aziraphale for even thinking he was allowed to do this with others without Gabriel’s permission.

This wasn’t always about falling or Heaven or shaping Aziraphale up, sometimes this was simply about Gabriel’s satisfaction. This was Gabriel’s dirty little secret and he wouldn’t have him messing up by actually falling and leaving Gabriel no source of pleasure.

He had taken Sandalphon’s offer of making him bleed for that transgression but no he wasn’t praying for Her forgiveness; he was praying to Gabriel for forgiveness then and he had beat it into him. There was barely any skin left on his back when he had gotten done and oh it was arousing to see Aziraphale cry like that. Truly cry and beg.

Tonight Aziraphale was behaving but that wasn’t what Gabriel wanted.

He struck Aziraphale hard across the face, that fear, that terror spreading as he hit the floor. Roughly he forced his legs apart and felt himself hardening at Aziraphale’s panicked breaths.

He was slow, rutting into him, making it uncomfortable, he let Aziraphale have his hands, tempted him to try to push him away. He bunched them into fists and weakly pressed them against his shoulders, eyes begging him to not hurt him.

He was like a fallen soldier, Gabriel got to decide if he finished him off quickly or captured him to be tortured for secrets.

“Aziraphale,” he said firmly, “Tell me no. Fight back.”

Aziraphale was confused, drawing in deep terrified breaths and gently shaking his head. Aziraphale was domesticated, his loyal little pet that would never disobey or deny his master anything, god it made Gabriel hard. He had done this to him. He had made him finally worth something, he finally had purpose, something he never had before.

“You wouldn’t, because you are a good, you are a loyal and good soldier who knows this is best.”

Aziraphale let out a little choked sob, he knew it was wrong, he didn’t want this, but he would never do anything to stop it.

A loud crash made Gabriel’s head shoot up, Aziraphale turned his head away, tensing hard expecting a blow when Gabriel ripped himself from him, still hard cum still dripping painfully from his penis.

It seemed the books had been knocked over, a large pile Gabriel had seen when he had entered and the person who had done so was standing frozen near them. Gabriel could sense the fear and confusion and Aziraphale must have too considering the way he jumped up.

“I’m so sorry Gabriel!” he sobbed grabbing his arm, “It’s the middle of the afternoon and I must have forgotten to lock up when you arrived!”

Gabriel glared down at Aziraphale deciding he would get a proper punishment next time but there was little to do now. The mood was ruined. He snapped and both of their cloths were back on.

“I’ll let you take care of erasing the memories on this one or don’t,” Gabriel said with a shrug stepping past the man who came fully alive.

“Ya listen here!” he heard the man yelling as he passed, “This one may be a disgusting witch but ya can’t go doing that to ‘im!”

Before he even had a chance to smite a mortal (a messy practice that he hadn’t done in 5000 years, it was really a waste of time and he got no enjoyment out of it like Sandaphon) he caught from the corner of his eye Aziraphale grabbing onto the man.

“Shadwell calm down,” he was hissing to him.

Aziraphale truly had a strange relationship with mortals. If he was more competent, he would be filling their ranks with worthy soldiers but as is he only drew people to sin. His purpose was to make Gabriel happy though and next time he would, he had never truly beat him before but well, he did get them interrupted by being incompetent once more. He deserved it.

Gabriel saw the man the next time he visited the shop and he didn’t remember him, so he could say fear was a good factor to keep Aziraphale from fucking up too badly.

;

Unbeknownst to either angel or the human himself, someone else was cued in on the open secret of heaven.

The human had unknowingly sold his soul to the Demon Crowley and with that handshake, he had sold every small, buried memory in his head.

For you see, miracles leave a trace, things didn’t just disappear into thin air, memories were altered, not erased. With one glare into the human’s soul, the demon knew all he knew and he knew the archangel Gabriel had sullied his angel in an unforgivable way.


	12. December 27, 1977

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The day Crowley found out what Gabriel does to his angel

Shadwell was late and Crowley was growing impatient. He wanted to know now what the hell the idiot had been doing, he hadn’t heard from him in two weeks. A week of complete radio silence.

He called him and the young woman (who Crowley noted was becoming increasingly more nervous about talking to him, smart woman sensed something was off about Crowley) hadn’t been able to transfer the call to Shadwell until yesterday evening.

It was off and Crowley waited till today to found out what he knew, he was afraid to know what Aziraphale had made him forget. Aziraphale had always been clumsy with tasks like this, he had always been afraid to alter the mind and it always showed in the results.

537 AD was the first time Crowley had seen his angel do something such as this, he was in trouble with his King. Arthur wasn’t pleased at all he had stopped him from burning his own wife at the stake (Crowley didn’t even have anything to do with this one, it was all the king and his appalling anger issues) and was calling for Aziraphale to be burned in her stead.

Crowley almost thought of stepping in, helping out the fool might get him to be more lenient at the thought of an arrangement but Aziraphale was always one for surprises. He made everyone in the court conveniently forget about the silly notion of burning him or the Queen at the stake.

The thing was, Aziraphale wasn’t very confident about his skill at doing this. He was antsy and scared; he buried the memories too deep and well it had turned the entire court into suggestible zombies for an entire week. Aziraphale was too terrified to ever try something such as that again he had told Crowley, jittering a bit as they drank from the King’s supply of mead and watched King Arthur and his entire round table shuffle about like reanimated corpses. Going about their everyday tasks but only by muscle memory alone, doing whatever you asked them to, much to Crowley’s amusement.

Crowley decided there was no harm in taking credit for that one, Hell thought it was more amusing then Heaven ever would have.

By the sounds of it from Mrs. Doyle, who Crowley had called this morning for a lovely bouquet of flowers to be delivered to his fake as his Scottish accent fiancé, that is precisely how Shadwell had been acting since last Thursday when she sent him over to the book shop with home made cookies for Mr. Fell who had been sick all week.

He didn’t normally invite mortals to his home, nor did he particularly think Shadwell was smart enough to get here all by himself (especially if his suspicions were correct and his beloved angel wiped a memory from his head), but Crowley left this one to chance. Luck was just as good as faith; you couldn’t rely on either and he would rather test Shadwell’s competence a little. He did entrust his entire galaxy on this buffoon’s shoulders, let’s see how well much luck was on his side.

He finally heard someone pounding at his door, his neighbors knew better then to bother him, Hastur had no concept of privacy and just entered, and his beloved Aziraphale always knocked firmly to be heard but never pounded on the door.

It had to be Shadwell, Crowley not feeling like getting up from the sofa yelled out the door was open and the door magically unlocked itself for Shadwell to enter.

He stared Shadwell down as he entered, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose and taking a puff from the dwindling cigarette clenched loosely between his fingers.

“Had to take four bloody buses to get ‘ere and I expect you to pay me back!”

“I’ll pay for two but yer on yer damn own ya got lost and had to take two more adding to yer trip,” he paused a moment flicking the bud at Shadwell’s head making a chorus of annoyed growls from both of them, “I told you on the phone to take a taxi but no, ya don’t listen, so ya know what? Never mind. I’m not paying ya, sit down.”

Shadwell had no other choice but to do so, so he did, making a spectacle of it as he flopped down next to Crowley with a loud huff.

“Where the hell you been? Why haven’t you been picking up my calls all bloody week?”

Shadwell squared his shoulders but there was genuine fear in his eyes, in his eyes no time had passed since the day his memories had been altered at the book shop a week ago. And well, Shadwell was the kind of man who could walk around like a zombie just grunting at people and the people around him only found it vaguely strange but not an alarm for concern.

Crowley really didn’t know why he was stalling like this, it wasn’t to be polite or respect Shadwell’s boundaries. Aziraphale would never erase someone’s memory after the utter disaster that happened last time if it wasn’t something serious.

This was all about finding out but the moment it was in front of him, he just…couldn’t.

He snapped his fingers, pausing time just as Shadwell opened his mouth, he pressed his fingers against the man’s forehead and took in the gentle scent of liliac there. It was unmistakable, Aziraphale’s work.

He closed his eyes and reached into the depths of the man’s soul where all his secrets were stored, not cancelling the miracle, Shadwell had no right to this memory. To this secret. If Aziraphale didn’t want him to know something, he would keep it that way but Crowley was going to know.

He thought of Aziraphale’s smile and the way he wiggled when he was satisfied or proud of himself. The way he practically glowed in pure ecstasy when he took a bite into his favorite food. The way he spread love and comfort just by existing, how he helped Crowley learn to let go of hatred and love something. If only one thing. 

He thought of his sudden weight drop, he thought of the way he just zoned out looking off into nothing, he thought of his broken smile that held back tears when he told Crowley to leave his shop, he thought of that bloody blouse. He steadied his breath and dove into the memory Aziraphale didn’t want anyone to know.

;

He didn’t remember what he did with Shadwell, maybe he kicked him out the door, maybe he left him there, it didn’t matter.

He was downstairs and in the parking garage before he even knew what he was doing, he was slamming the door hard of the Bentley and was gone. Weaving in and out of traffic, fire flying from the wheels at the speed he was going, if anyone saw him they would be convinced Satan himself was flying through the streets of London tonight.

He just needed to see Aziraphale, he didn’t care if he got kicked out, he just needed to see him. His fingers were jittering hard and tapping against the steering wheel, his radio ominously silent. His favorite radio station that only played his favorite under ground bands such as Queen and Velvet Underground wasn’t playing tonight. No disco stations played, no gossip stations to help give him ideas on his next big plot, just dead silence. His Bentley and he were connected and the car always knew when it was best to stay quiet. It wanted him to focus on his dark thoughts, it missed Aziraphale’s comforting presence as well. It missed riling the angel up as they cut through traffic.

If he lost Aziraphale…

He thought of the holy water, he could see it in the back of his mind tucked away, his plan B in case anyone found out he was in love with the opposition. His plan B if anyone was to find out a demon could feel anything but hatred.

He swore as he parked illegally against the curb, car half on the sidewalk as he hurried out and half ran to the book shop, if Gabriel took him from him, he would have no more reason to exist.

“Angel?” he called firmly but gently walking into the book shop, not paying any attention to the Closed sign and no human lock could keep him away from the only thing that mattered in his damned existence.

It was dark and still and quiet, all very bad things. There was no pots steaming, no crumpets baking, no Aziraphale bustling by him shoving books in his hands telling him to at least help out if he was going to barge in unexpected like this.

The cobwebs and dust weren’t out of place, Aziraphale did that but the knocked over books left on the ground were. He bent down and picked up a copy of Oliver Twist, the spine was damaged. There was a faint scent of lilac to it, it was fixed before but the miracle cancelled itself out it seemed.

That didn’t normally happen.

As Crowley walked towards the back of the shop, he scrunched his nose and hissed loudly at the smell of burnt pages and blood. Not human blood or a felled beast’s blood, lilac and copper, the scent of a heavenly creature’s true essence.

The back room was a mess, paper scattered, books ripped and torn, ink exploded on the carpet from his lovely calligraphy set. His wine bottles broken and smashed against the walls. The rubbish bin had a horrible sent of holy fire, someone had lit something up recently and the smoke was still wafting. Glancing in as he hurried in the room, he winced, it was unmistakably the Wilde collection, the original binding was a rich velvet red. Dorian Grey’s title was the only thing that remained of them now.

And there on the floor, where he dropped instantly, crying and shaking and instantly grabbing, was his angel. Body so thin his bones popped out, coated in a thick layer of bruises and claws marks from a hungry beast. His poor genitals, a vagina Crowley knew he would never pick for himself, abused and bleeding from rough and disgusting treatment.

Crowley cradled his blonde curls and gently maneuvered his unresponsive head against his shoulder and buried it there so he wouldn’t have to see the abuse anymore with his open and dead eyes that just stared off without truly taking in anything.

He glanced at his bleeding back, someone had dug into healing wounds with rough hands, spilling out red gold blood that would forever stain Crowley’s heart and his fingers that traced over them.

He clung tighter to Aziraphale, seeing his bruised bottom covered in welts, Gabriel had beat him with a belt it looked like. It was utterly humiliating and cruel, Crowley could feel Aziraphale’s anguish, wherever he his mind had disappeared to, it was still screaming at the utter humiliation and pain of it all. It cried out wanting to know what he could do to be better, he blamed himself for this appalling treatment. Crowley held him tighter trying in vain to transfer love and comfort to his angel’s soul but it didn’t go past the walls and walls of self-hatred Gabriel had helped build there.

“I’m going to kill him,” he found himself sobbing into Aziraphale rocking him back and forth, “I’m so fucking sorry I couldn’t kill him sooner, but I will now, I’m here now…”

“Yer Crowley isn’t going anywhere, I am going to make this right, Angel…”

“I’m gonna make this right…”

;

He left his beloved angel in bed, making sure he was warm and that his injuries were healed. He gently ran his finger down the side of his face, healed now but the memory of the deep bruising was still there. Anything could be miracled away, but it would never really leave, you would always know it was there. Crowley would always be reminded of the handprint and his swollen eye every time he saw his angel.

He had yet to come back from wherever his mind retreated to, Crowley had given him the decency of closing his eyes though, it was easy to pretend he was merely asleep and not in such shock from another angel doing…doing that to him he went catatonic. 

He wanted so desperately to stay, he wanted to comfort Aziraphale and tell him he was there for him.

He snapped his fingers and brought something personal from his flat here, his favorite down blanket. It was a midnight blue with stars and stylized moons scattered across it, the blanket Aziraphale had helped a human make just for him. He was so proud of himself, 1950 was the year he had gotten into taking odd classes and sewing just happened to be one of them it seemed. It was warm and love was stitched into every fiber of it, it helped Crowley feel loved and safe during the cold winters and he hoped it would do his angel the same favor.

He tucked it around him gently, brushing his fingers through his hair, he didn’t stir, he was still out of it. If he woke Crowley knew he would stay but maybe it was for the best he stayed in his own head.

He pressed his fingers against Aziraphale’s temples and closed his eyes concentrating on warm and pleasant thoughts and sent them to his angel. Gently he forced his corporal form to actually sleep, watching with a smile as it untensed and began to breath in and out gently.

Aziraphale would wake from a pleasant sleep with nothing but warm and happy dreams at the cusp of his mind in a day or so with that little miracle.

He locked up the shop after he got rid of all the evidence of the brutal assault so the memories wouldn’t harm Aziraphale when he came to.

He drove straight to the City of Westminster from there, this was Hastur’s usual haunt. He was trying with all his damned soul to sway the members of Parliament to sin. He always thought it was amusing to get them to sin during the Holiday seasons, Crowley thought he lacked any sort of creativity and wasted a lot of time just to get one person to commit sins they would have already done with their free will.

He had told his superior he wasn’t interested with the American demons already and he wasn’t about to spend his time babysitting them because one idiot got killed with holy water and the entire sector was now crying to revolt against Heaven prematurely.

Now though, maybe it would be good to go calm them down and give them the crash course training on how to deal with angels properly. He had been selected for how well he and his opposition clashed without ever resulting in war crimes (mainly cause they were more or less fraternizing and hadn’t fought one another since King Arthur’s court).

Paranoid demons fearing for their lives always had knives up their sleeves and those knives were just what Crowley needed to get rid of a problem.


	13. Watch the Knife

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter takes place the next chapter after Shadwell got the knife from Crowley.

Aziraphale missed Crowley but he was also terrified of seeing Crowley.

Aziraphale was far from stupid, he knew he had been here, how else had his blanket been tucked around him?

He remembered this blanket; he had made it when Mrs. Terry was putting together sewing lessons in 1951. He had initially only taken the class as a show of support of the kind aging woman who was lost and in need of support after the loss of her daughter and husband one after the other to cancers, but had found it as something to take his mind off his own pains.

He had found the starry night fabric in one of Mrs. Terry’s boxes she had imported from France and had become nostalgic for Crowley, a deep ache in his heart had settled then as it was now. He had done a sloppy job at sewing it and Mrs. Terry didn’t get frustrated, mortals rarely did when he made mistakes unlike his fellow angels, he felt pity that they were too simple minded to know how truly incompetent he was, bless their souls. She had helped him fix his mistakes with her old but experienced fingers, she even helped him perfectly stitch in some lovely stylized moons he found in the piles of fabrics.

He hadn’t talked to Crowley in so long at the time and couldn’t give him the blanket until an excuse came up during the Christmas of 1968, a perfect excuse came up after Crowley had given him the mug the day before.

He had packed the blanket up, intending to give it back to the demon, he didn’t want to taint it more then he tainted everything else. He wanted to keep Crowley’s scent on it, his beloved Crowley’s musky and warm scent that always had the distinct smell of cinnamon and freshly blown out candles.

There was brim stone and sulfur there, but it wasn’t as strong or obnoxious as some pretentious preachers would have you believe. It was a faint after smell if anything and you could only really make it out when his essence became ablaze with anger and hatred, that had only happened a handful of times in Aziraphale’s presence.

Aziraphale was being rude, he should thank Crowley and an offer an apology for him having to clean up the mess and waste so much energy reversing the punishment Gabriel thought he deserved.

And really, he deserved it this time.

He felt his shoulders sagging as he wandered downstairs, putting a pot on the stove to boil his morning tea. He couldn’t stop the tears this time, he just felt such deep shame. He had never liked Shadwell, but his mistake had given him borderline brain damage, watching him shuffle about all week made Aziraphale’s stomach lurch. He had been feeling such guilt over it, he had tried to force a friendship on the poor man just to keep an eye on him.

His mistake had made poor, poor Crowley have to walk in and see that. He couldn’t even come to and apologize to his friend making him see that, no one should have to see that. See what he made Gabriel must do, what he always had to do because Aziraphale couldn’t get anything right, even basic tasks he couldn’t do right ---

He dropped to his knees before collapsing hard on the ground feeling Gabriel strike him across the face once more. He once more felt his eye swell from the sheer force of the strike, the apology at the tip of his tongue. He breathed harder and tried to tell himself that had happened nearly a month ago and he had deserved it, but his mind and corporal form didn’t listen to reason.

His face swelled and his eye became black once more, he opened his eyes with a gasp and realized he was just in his kitchen and Gabriel wasn’t there.

Taking his hand to his face, he winced, realizing the injury that Crowley must have healed returned again merely because he had previously believed it was back.

He concentrated a moment and healed it once more before getting up and making tea. He needed to stay calm, he was being silly, this wasn’t about him.

Poor Crowley, he must be so confused and scared, he didn’t know what had happened and he had been avoiding him almost a month now. That just wasn’t right, he needed to explain to him what happened. Surely, he would understand why it was Aziraphale’s fault. Heaven was never wrong, and neither was Gabriel.

;

He stopped at Mrs. Doyle’s before getting on the bus to pay Crowley a visit, initially it was to check on Shadwell noticing his memory issues since his poor attempt at burying the memory he should have never witnessed. He wasn’t in today, the young woman who lived in his building had called in for him. He had been under the weather it seemed and wouldn’t be coming in.

He ended up helping the kind woman with her morning chores and purchased two potted plants. One for Crowley and the other for his own shop to make it less void of life during the winter months.

He had intended to drop his off before boarding the bus but found himself flushing in embarrassment realizing he had forgotten to do so, both plants just felt comforting in his hands and gave him something to concentrate on instead of his internal fretting and anxieties at seeing Crowley after he had sent him away and after knowing he had found him like that. In such an embarrassing state.

He concentrated on keeping the cold from the plants and sending a little love their way to make the ficus leaves a lively green instead of the sad brown they had been when he purchased them.

To his utter disappoint, Crowley was not home when he arrived. He didn’t sense him anywhere around the building and his car wasn’t in the parking garage like normal (Aziraphale felt a little like he was invading his space checking at all but it was the only way to convince himself the demon wasn’t home).

He felt a little bit of guilt entering the demon’s home like he did, but he didn’t stay long, he set the plant on the kitchen counter and he noted in dismay it was littered with wine bottles and cigarette buds. He snapped his fingers and smiled at the now clean counter he set the plant down on, he dug in his pockets a moment and brought out a pad of paper he always kept there, just in case and pulled the slim pen from the ring at the top. He wrote a quick apology note to his friend for just entering as he did and a lengthier apology for him having to see him like that. Trying in vain to convey how that was Aziraphale’s fault and none of it was his, begging him to not feel guilty and drink himself into depression again. Aziraphale didn’t know if he could handle knowing his next one-hundred-year nap was his fault.

With that he left, missing Crowley by ten minutes, he had been to the book shop ironically with the same mission Aziraphale had in mind.

;

He didn’t want to go back to the book shop just yet from Crowley’s, he was antsy and jittery and didn’t want to face whatever had made his corporal form reemerge old injuries that morning. He decided to check in on Shadwell, it had almost felt like his duty since that horrible night to be his guardian angel of sort. He had been to his apartment complex a few times, walking him home the entire week his brain had been out of sorts; afraid he would get hurt or lost without someone around to take care of him.

He took a cab from Crowley’s back to Soho, a good five blocks from his shop. It was within walking distance if he chose to walk home from here.

He gave the driver an extra pound in thanks for the ride and walked towards the run-down little building. Aziraphale remembered this was one of the neighborhoods that had been demolished by the Blitz, it truly marveled him how quickly everything was rebuilt after such a horrid event. Aziraphale was a coward and had convinced another angel to go in his stead to Germany barely convincing Gabriel he was needed here in London while it was under attack.

He felt his stomach drop as he waited patiently for someone to answer his knock, this is why he fully deserved what Gabriel did to him, he was never there when humanity truly needed him. He always found an excuse to cower away from action.

A lovely young woman with fluffy red hair and a proactive (and quite stylish) dress with the British flag print on it and white Go-go boots Aziraphale kept his eyes on instead of her bright eye shadow, opened the door.

“Come in love,” she said gently tilting her head back, “I didn’t think you would be ‘ere till five but I can always squeeze you nice and tight into my schedule.”

The way she cooed out her words and crept a finger across Aziraphale’s arm, pulling him in gently and slamming the door behind them made his stomach lurch. Breathing heavily, he shot back putting distance between himself and the young woman.

“I’m sorry but you have me mistaken!” he said firmly hugging his plant close to his chest and straightening his shoulders trying to put on a brave face to help calm his racing heart.

“I’m here to see Mr. Shadwell, he was ill today and I wanted to check up on him.”

She pulled back embarrassed and gave him a sheepish smile, folding her arms gently over her cleavage, maybe to ward off the chill of the outside seeping in and well her outfit would do nothing to ward off the cold.

Aziraphale shook off his large windbreaker and didn’t take no as much of an answer as he assisted the young woman into it, not wanting the poor thing to catch her death in this weather. She merely chuckled at him but took his coat.

“Quite the gentleman, Mr. ?”

“Fell,” Aziraphale supplied offering his hand politely to her and she chuckled taking it, her hands were freezing, it felt as though she had left them to freeze, young people really needed to remember they were mortal.

“Madame Tracy, I run the business upstairs.”

Aziraphale was afraid to know what that meant, so he didn’t ask.

“Only do that part time love, I’m a full time psychic and you look like yer in need of finding direction in yer life.”

Aziraphale opened his mouth to argue but well, he knew what he looked like. He had that lost look in his eyes, he missed Crowley, he wanted to know how to be better, he wanted to be a good enough Angel Gabriel wouldn’t need to do those things with him anymore. He couldn’t accomplish those things with his constant desire to return to Crowley. 

“Shadwell ‘as been passed out since yesterday afternoon since that employer of ‘is came over.”

Aziraphale frowned at that as the young woman, no Madame Tracy, lead him up the rickety stairs to a hallway that had a fork between three rooms. He knew the one on the left to be Shadwell’s, so the one on the right must be her’s since the one in the middle appeared to be a storage area.

“Employer?”

“Nasty man, always rude and calling every damn night making demands. Shadwell is always arguing ‘ith ‘im. If ya ask me, he’s trouble, that one.”

She rambled a bit about speculations of who the mystery employer was, she figured he was in the crime family but quickly asked Aziraphale to keep that to himself, it would be a shame for Shadwell to end up in jail again. Aziraphale politely said he was going to check on the man and the woman smiled, opening the door for him and telling him to not take long, she would give him a free palm reading before he went on his way.

He instantly stiffened entering the room, Shadwell was passed out on the couch, snoring loudly. The strong scent of alcohol filling the room and the bottles littered around the room indicated Shadwell wasn’t sick, rather, he was drunk still from the night before. Not a surprise to most, not many would bat an eye but Aziraphale wasn’t so sure.

It smelt of hell in here, a demonic aura still strong. He set the plant on the little coffee table in front of Shadwell and squatted down next to him. He smelled of brim stone, a demonic miracle had been used here.

He held a package tightly, a box wrapped in a black velvet. Gently, Aziraphale pried it from his hands and instantly shoved it in his pocket as Tracy came back into the room calling for him.

He smiled to her and let her lead him from the room, forgetting to grab his plant but leaving the building soon with a new weapon and a new fear there was a new demon lurking around London.


	14. The Blame Game

-1978-

‘Dearest Crowley,’

Crowley couldn’t read farther then that. He set the small stack of neatly folded paper back down. He looked down at his black marble countertop and ran his finger across the once more pristine surface, no wine stains, no ash, no buds smashed into the surface. Clean and smooth once more.

He picked up the plant and glared at it, he had no need for this potted waste of space but he wasn’t about to throw out a gift Aziraphale had wasted his energy on. He felt so much anxiety radiating off the plant, nervous energy Aziraphale had poured into it.

‘Dearest Crowley,

I didn’t mean to intrude on your home, that was rather improper of me, I should have waited or called you beforehand. I have heard it said that plants are a good way to show you are remorseful and well your home is rather devoid of life, so you need it even if you don’t accept my apology for my rudeness.’

Crowley couldn’t read anymore; he threw it aside.

He knew what this was about, Aziraphale was anxious he had found him in such a state. Aziraphale wasn’t stupid, of course he bloody knew, Crowley ground his teeth across his bottom lip.

“What the hell you looking at?” he snarled to the plant, “I know what you are thinking, just call him you say.”

“That’s not how Aziraphale works,” he sighed popping open another bottle of wine and necking the bottle, “He only sees what he wants to see. What’s right is what’s right, it doesn’t matter if its wrong. Its been like that since Eden. Heaven says watch these mortals drown and don’t intervene, he won’t. He will just hide away and mourn each death with useless tears. Another angel wants to abuse him, he won’t tell them no.”

“Tell me no. Fight back.”

He heard Gabriel mocking him, his voice clear but an echo quality was to it as Shadwell stepped into the shop. Aziraphale, his darling Aziraphale’s sob was the answer, Gabriel chuckled. He knew as well as Crowley did Aziraphale wouldn’t, he had been conditioned since creation to never question, do as you are told and rebellion is always met with punishment.

“I’m not fucking calling him a coward!” he yelled at the plant making its leaves stand on end at his sudden anger, the sudden smell of brim stone and fire, the sudden smashing of the bottle against the wall.

“You come into my bloody home and you dare think I would think that of him? He’s the bloody reason you aren’t in the disposal right now! Why that!” he pointed angrily at the broken bottle, “Isn’t you!”

He snarled flopping down onto one of the bar stools next to the high counter, eyes inches from the plant.

“He’s so clever and kind,” he sighed to the plant, “I don’t need to ask him. He knows this is wrong. He must know he doesn’t deserve that. But like with the flood and the destruction of countless cities all under the name of God, all you have to do is tell him its right and he will let it happen.”

He glared at the plant’s silence and picked him up, snarling as he asked if he would have this much attitude after a week in solitary confinement (the hallway closet).

Truthfully, he was taking out his pent out aggression on the plant without destroying it knowing his angel had brought it here for him. He would later read talking to plants helped them grow better and well this one reacted the most positively to screaming and insults.

;

Demons were supposed to love the rain and Crowley supposed some demons did, Hastur did quite a bit, but Crowley was not Hastur so he did not.

It was March and the snow had begun to thaw, but London wasn’t done with the cold yet it seemed.

Two miserable bloody months had passed, and Shadwell was useless as ever, had yet to do what Crowley had tasked him with. Aziraphale was afraid and had gone to hiding from Crowley when he showed up at the shop, he had found the bravery to confront him before but had quickly lost it when Crowley had stupidly left. He had gone to the bloody book shop when he should have stayed home like his gut instincts (which were never wrong) told him to do.

The nightmares were weighing down, making sleep less enjoyable then it normally was. All he could think of was Gabriel forcing himself on Aziraphale. Beating his tender skin with a belt. Burning his precious books (Crowley tried his best to restore the Wilde collection, but they were burned by an archangel, they would now always have that singed reminder on the edges).

He had woken from another round of nightmares that morning, not even screaming at the plant and breaking his dishes could calm him. He decided to go for a drive. The Bentley was just as restless as he was, he could sense it, so he decided to let them both out for the day.

There was a coffee shop around the block from St James, it boasted having the best coffee in all of London and Crowley decided he would test this. If it was the best, he would leave it be, if it was anything less the very best coffee in London, Crowley would personally make sure it was out of business within the year. 

He ordered the more expensive brew and sat in the corner; the dark mysterious stranger who radiated with chaotic energy just didn’t feel right in a coffee shop Crowley decided on first sip. Sitting in the corner of run-down pubs obscured in shadows, dark cloak masking his features, now that had always made Crowley feel absolutely demonic. 

It had always been worthwhile to take on Aziraphale’s miracles in his obscured and ominous corner. Helping that man get his life together, inspiring an artist to do good, leading a soul from temptation. It was irony at its best and Crowley always loved it.

He missed Aziraphale, he missed the arrangement, he missed how it was. He felt something bubbling in his stomach, if he hadn’t gotten into that stupid fight over bloody holy water with Aziraphale, he could have been there when this started. It had to have started after that.

Aziraphale was so vulnerable and trusting, he had no one around but bloody Gabriel. Was that how this all started? Was it his fault the archangel had found a reason to start forcing himself on Aziraphale?

These thoughts were swarming in his head like locus, forcing a plague upon him from the inside. He didn’t even care about his original thought about ruining a business just to make a little chaos on the street corner. He didn’t notice Hastur had walked into the shop and slid in the seat in front of him.

“Crawly,” he instantly forced the plague to swarm in the foreground of his thoughts, he needed to fake sanity for now. For Aziraphale, he couldn’t risk being sent back to hell for ‘retraining’, he shuddered internally at the mere thought of that torture.

“Ya here ta thank me for doing yer job in America?” he grumbled pulling out a pack of cigarette and lighting up to calm his racing mind.

“What kinda demon would I be if I did,” Hastur croaked holding his hand out and Crowley just tossed the rest of the pack at him. It was a cheap brand anyway, just what a cheap demon like Hastur deserved, Crowley could do better.

“Ya better have got rebellion out of their heads like ya promised and collected all the weapons they had stashed up their damn sleeves, fer yer damn sake.”

“I turned in my report,” Crowley said casually, the implication clear: he didn’t want to socialize with the duke.

“I got the higher ups on my ass about all this,” he sneered, his finger lighting up and sparking up a cigarette.

“What happened to the days when things were simple and lower level piss ants knew their place.”

“I would blame John Wayne,” Crowley said a shit eating grin creeping across his face, “We all want to be the lone cowboy now who plays by our own rules.”

Hastur snarled loudly, smoke fogging up the shop making everyone around them break into violent coughs.

“For yer damn sake ya better have gotten all the weapons and the rebellious ‘lone cowboys’ aren’t here on my turf!”

Crowley frowned, not sure if he should say anything, sometimes it was better to keep your mouth shut and let them fill in the blanks.

“Gabriel’s little pet was asking around about weapons to some lower level no one and now they are afraid another angel is going rogue.”

“Gabriel’s pet?” Crowley’s teeth were grinding, how dare he call his Aziraphale that, but he needed to be calm and learn what this was about.

“The little pansy angel you been thwarting all these years,” Hastur snared in an aggravated tone like Crowley should be caught up on this already, “The one who stinks of Gabriel’s essence. Trailed him the other day and they weren’t kidding, he stinks of Azaleas, them flowers Ligur made a death threat in China a couple hundred years ago, that’s what Gabriel stinks of and so does his little whore now. I know when someone sleeps with ‘is boss for special treatment and the way that one does nothing, he does.”

Crowley barely heard Hastur’s rant, his teeth were grinding, he trailed his Aziraphale, he saw his Aziraphale’s state and assumed the sex was consensual?

“Ya make damn sure nothing goes on here to get us in Heaven’s shit list like what happened in America or I mean it Crowley, I damn well mean it this time, I will string you to the racks and ya won’t be coming back to yer cozy little life for another six thousand years.”

Crowley gave him a mock salute and Hastur snarled louder, knocking his coffee over before storming out.

Crowley just sat there a minute then two then an hour later he left.

He drove around London awhile before deciding to go home, he would figure this out in the morning.

;

Crowley parked the Bentley in the garage and made his walk towards the building, pausing at the entrance glancing towards the bus stop a little way down. In the thick fog of rain and wind he couldn’t make out his beige windbreaker, but he could feel him.

He dropped his keys in the storm drain in his haste to catch up to him before the bus arrived, he wasn’t going to let him leave. Not now, not ever again, no more pussy footing around this issue, Crowley was done being a coward. Aziraphale needed better than that and he was going to prove he was better than that.

Aziraphale was clinging to another potted plant, it didn’t seem he found the courage to leave this one in Crowley’s care (Crowley fear he may have found his last present still in solitary confinement for daring to wilt) but on further thought, he didn’t think the angel even made it into his flat.

His poor skin was almost transparent from being out in the cold for so long and the only color to him was the light pink flush of his cheeks, Crowley sat down beside him when he failed to notice his presence as Crowley had noticed his.

There were handprints on his throat, fresh and a bold purple standing out on his neck peaking out from under his scarf that was slipping. Crowley felt fire in his veins, he thought of what Hastur had said, how Aziraphale smelled of Gabriel. How Gabriel had marked his dearest and only real friend as his.

“I wanted to give you this,” Aziraphale finally mumbled out not really looking at Crowley, staring off at a flock of pigeons that had settled into a large puddle across the street. 

“I wanted so desperately to tell you I was sorry, I am so sorry,” he had tears in his eyes falling so subtly they could have been mistaken as rain, but Crowley knew the difference.

“But I was being silly again, I was afraid of seeing you, so I just wanted to go home but I missed the bus while I was fretting.”

Crowley gently pulled Aziraphale against his chest, cradling in him in a way to not harm the lilac flowers he had bought just for him, running his fingers through his hair feeling the shivers run through Aziraphale’s wan and dangerously thin body and into his own.

He wasn’t bound by the rules mortals were bound by, he could change this world on a whim if he wished as a servant of the dark lord but even without that, it was too easy to scoop Aziraphale into his arms. How had it gotten this bad? How had Crowley let it get this bad when he had known?

He carried him into his penthouse, and no one questioned the man he held bridal style. His neighbor eyed them, but the young heiress knew better then to question the man, last time she had questioned him, everything fell apart for her for an entire week and made her believe in the supernatural to an unorthodox degree. She just clung to her rosary beads and tried to keep her eyes off them in the elevator ride.

Aziraphale had taken to quietly sobbing into Crowley’s shoulder and was unaware of his neighbor’s discomfort of the demon nor was it noticed by Aziraphale, his extreme emotional state had left its mark in the elevator. When they reached the top floor, the young woman was crying as well.

Crowley had never really thought of it, but he supposed if Aziraphale’s sunshiny happiness and love could affect mortals, it made sense that his dark somber mood would as well. He hated Gabriel even more for this discovery, it just wasn’t right Aziraphale, his beautiful angel was making mortals cry. That was his job, Aziraphale was supposed to be there to bring out the rainbow after the flood.

With a gentleness he didn’t think he was capable of, he laid Aziraphale on the couch, slipping his shoes and soaking wet socks off (just how long had he been in the rain?).

He took the flowers from the angel’s shaking hands and set the pot on the coffee table.

“Angel,” Crowley began gently taking Aziraphale’s hand and letting him squeeze it tightly, “I think we need to talk.”


	15. Heaven's Will

Crowley let Aziraphale process the words, he continued to softly cry, tears rolling down his face but no gasped sobs. It was a hollow defeated agony, a kind of acceptance to one’s fate.

He squeezed Crowley’s hand and Crowley squeezed back, both staying in the silence a moment, recovering enough strength for the battle ahead. Crowley didn’t know where to begin, wherever he started it would hurt his angel. Even a simple, why did you really come here today? Would wound him in the state he was in.

“Would you like some tea?”

Aziraphale squeezed his hand and let it go in confirmation, Crowley smiled at that, he could do that. Busy work to keep his mind focused and not in a state of collapsing under panic and unease.

While the kettle was steaming, he went into his bedroom and got some fresh cloths from his drawer. A thick and warm pair of flannel pajamas, red and black plaid. Not Aziraphale’s style but Crowley needed to know, he needed to know what that monster did. Aziraphale’s neck was proof the angel was having a hard time healing and Crowley was going to make this right, once and for all.

Crowley poured the tea and added the right amount of milk and sugar for his angel. He wasn’t one for tea, he always opted for something stronger, wine or coffee usually, but maybe he needed something a tad softer tonight. He poured himself a cup of the same, he picked up the elegant, shiny black mugs and walked back to the living room.

Aziraphale had curled against the back of the couch, shivers traveling through him from the drenching wet cloths. He gave a sharp glare towards the lilacs that had begun to droop and dared to have dark spots on their leaves in the presence of Aziraphale! He would sort this plant out when he got his angel settled.

“Angel,” he called, keeping his voice even but loud enough to be heard, “Yer tea is ready.”

Aziraphale was always polite before he was anything else, almost instinctively and Crowley helped his shaking limbs sit up right, slipping the cup of tea between his shaking hands.

“Thank you, dear,” he croaked trying his best to smile in gratitude, but the effort died halfway. He took a sip and his dead smile turned to Crowley.

“Just the right amount of sugar,” Crowley supposed he was teasing him but his voice was just so hollow.

Crowley gave him a wan smile in return, taking a hesitant sip of his own tea, it was horrible. The sugar and strong black tea just didn’t feel like they belonged together, mixing gasoline and fire in his mouth. It was a much-needed distraction for his fear and anger, so Crowley kept taking hesitant drinks, swishing it around his mouth to concentrate on his displeasure for the taste then to chance looking at Aziraphale’s poor neck. The soggy and heavy wool scarf had slipped again, and it was unable to hide those marks now. 

Aziraphale, had hardly taken a sip from his tea, taking glances towards Crowley, sensing his internal seething. He nervously took a small sip, hands shaking the entire time. He opened his mouth to say something but a loud crack of thunder outside made him jump, eyes shooting to the window, the flash of lightening making him shoot up and drop his cup in the process.

Crowley jumped up as well, quickly pulling Aziraphale back, so his bare feet didn’t get scolded by the hot tea or cut by the broken glass on the ground. Aziraphale’s eyes were large, his breathing heavy and his heart was racing staring at the window as another bolt of lightening struck.

With a snap, the curtains were tightly closed keeping the lightening flashes from Aziraphale’s gaze and the teacup was intact once more, sitting on the coffee table.

Aziraphale recoiled when Crowley tried to ease him to sit down once more, shaking hard again and the plant wilting under his inner turmoil, the once healthy, purple flowers turning a sickly dying brown.

“I’m so sorry, darling,” his voice trembled, each word pitched in panic, “I think I should—”

“No,” Crowley instantly ground out, harder than he wanted, more panicked then he intended, he took a deep gulp and tried again, “No, please, don’t leave.”

Aziraphale stared at him with wide eyes, he glanced towards the curtained window, hearing the storm raging outside.

“It’s alright angel,” Crowley mumbled, gently taking Aziraphale’s hand and squeezing it and smiled feeling Aziraphale grasp his hand tightly, “Let’s get you into dry cloths.”

Aziraphale was staring at him, between trusting Crowley and somewhere deep down conditioned to be afraid of this intimate closeness.

Crowley braved himself just as Aziraphale braced himself as Crowley tugged on the scarf and watched it fall on its own revealing the nasty purple handprints that circled the angel’s throat.

“Please, let me see,” Crowley begged amazed that Aziraphale wasn’t pulling away, his own heart racing at how Aziraphale leaned into the hand on his cheek, in an almost gratitude.

“Please, angel, for the love of anyone, let me help you.”

Aziraphale nodded, tears running down his cheeks.

;

Crowley let Aziraphale go at his own pace, he just stood outside the bathroom door and waited for Aziraphale to decide how he wanted Crowley to see him. It was agonizing for Crowley, waiting, being patient, not just taking action. Crowley had decided long ago, he was a demon, not a monster. Thwarting Heaven, causing mischief, leading humans down darker paths playing on their own free will, that was fine. Openly harming someone in an unforgivable way, Crowley felt the rebellion had been pointless all along if the fallen were just going to turn into the angels that oppressed them before. 

Crowley leaned against his grand king size bed, leaning heavily against one of the large and sturdy canopy top bases. A lovely gold-plated base elegantly placed red diamonds running across it, with sleek transparent red and black curtains pulled open. Swiped from the summer home of the last French Monarchy family, the mortals were ransacking it anyhow, might as well steal and hide away some valuable objects. This included the canopy bed he lounged against now (mattress was more modern though; the old mattress was torture on the spine) and the throne he put in front of a desk he ended up swiping from Napoleon after he was banished. 

He would keep this little history lesson to himself for now, Aziraphale likely wouldn’t want to hear about the revolution that nearly got him beheaded in the state he was in.

To Crowley’s surprise, Aziraphale didn’t take the cloths Crowley had offered him, instead stepping from the bathroom completely naked. His arms were gently crossed around his chest, hugging himself gently and his eyes were downcast. Crowley’s eyes were wide at the severe damage just under his heavy, baggy clothing.

It was wrong, so cruel, so utterly evil for anyone to force Aziraphale to be this frail. Every ounce of plump flesh that had once made him so full of life was sucked away, leaving pale skin clinging tightly to bones. Crowley’s form wasn’t what some would call large, but it wasn’t this. It wasn’t sickly, it didn’t feel like a corpse, something wilting to nothing. Dead eyes, pale skin and body wilting away. It made Crowley disgusted and that wasn’t even taking in the bruising. Thick ugly bruises in the shape of hand prints on his thighs, telling a story of Aziraphale held down. Bruised and lazily bleeding bite marks blossomed in his inner thighs.

Welts running up and down his thighs, red and angry. 

His genitals looked swollen and Crowley felt ill seeing a phallic like plug stuffed in it, irritating the tender flesh.

Uneasily Aziraphale turned, showing his back and Crowley almost screamed in anger. His back was bleeding and seemed to bleed more now that he stood shaking before Crowley, vulnerable but so trusting. He trusted Crowley to show him like this.

The welts on his bottom were bleeding, sluggishly, not as strong as the whip strikes on his back. 

“Please don’t be angry with Gabriel,” Aziraphale whispered so softly Crowley almost didn’t hear him over his internal screaming, over the fire roaring and pounding in his ears.

“I’m so sorry you had to find this out my darling,” Aziraphale buried his head in his hands, words faint but Crowley caught each other muffled behind gasped breaths, “It’s not right you had to see. You must be so upset; you can’t understand how I deserve this.” 

“Aziraphale,” Crowley said, his own voice shaking unable to look away from the damage, “How can you deserve this?”

“If I did not deserve this, she would hear my prayers and let my form heal,” he finally sobbed out loudly, “I try so hard for it to heal, to not look at my punishment but it never goes away.”

“I don’t want to discorporate,” he sobbed turning to Crowley red, blood shot, desperate eyes bearing into his very soul, “Please, please, I don’t want to fail Gabriel after he has to do this because I never listen! I can’t do---”

Crowley gently pulled Aziraphale into his arms, instantly cutting off his words, his false, disgustingly wrong words that came from Gabriel’s mouth and like everything else about this was forced onto Aziraphale. He clung to his blonde curls, gently carding through them as Aziraphale sobbed into his shoulder.

“Its not your fault,” he ground out taking even breaths to keep the fire and brim stone deep inside him, he wasn’t angry at Aziraphale, he didn’t deserve to feel afraid anymore. It was time for Gabriel to feel afraid and Crowley had already set the pieces to make him pay. He nuzzled Aziraphale’s head under his cheek, mumbling to him how he wasn’t leaving him. He was going to take care of him now, nothing bad was going to happen.

“Yer Crowley is here,” he whispered gently feeling Aziraphale begin to calm enough to be steered back to the bathroom, “Let me take care of you, dove.”

And Aziraphale did, maybe it was an after affect of being forced into Gabriel’s submission, but he didn’t fight anything Crowley said.

;

He made a warm bath for Aziraphale, filling it with oils to ease his pain and bubbles he knew he loved. It was warm and it would stay warm as long Aziraphale needed it to be. He glanced down at the cruel device Gabriel had no doubt shoved into the angel last he had seen him and silently begged him to take it out.

“Gabriel wanted to put a chastity belt on me because he feared I would give into temptation but when I begged him not to, he decided this would do.”

Aziraphale looked humiliated and deeply embarrassed at the mere implication of allowing anyone else to touch him. He didn’t seem to argue about popping the plug out himself with an almost relieved sigh. His vagina looked raw and was dripping blood.

Crowley felt it was too forward to touch down there period, he stuck his hand in the bath water and sent a strong miracle to heal the injuries. Gently he took Aziraphale’s hand and helped ease him into the water.

“You know this is wrong,” Crowley stated, it wasn’t even a question, it was a blanket statement they both knew. Aziraphale wouldn’t have willingly popped the plug out if he didn’t know and he wouldn’t be here, he wouldn’t have come seeking out a demon if he didn’t know on some level this was cruel and torture. This wasn’t angelic and if She was so damn bloody pure, why would She allow rape in her kingdom??

“It is Heaven’s will,” Aziraphale mumbled pulling his knees up to his chest and resting his head against them, “It can not be wrong.”

Crowley took a deep breath, decided not to push it yet, he must be soft and he must be gentle. He had to show Aziraphale patience and compassion and understanding, shit Heaven didn’t seem to comprehend if this was their will.

“I’ll give you some privacy,” he mumbled, “I laid some cloths out for you, when you are done, you can just rest in my bed.”

“Thank you, darling.”

Crowley took Aziraphale’s hand as he offered it and they both squeezed tight, Crowley let go as Aziraphale’s grip became limp and he left him to his bath in peace.

;

Crowley made sure no one could enter his apartment without his notice, setting up wards and sigils around the entrances. He wasn’t very good at this, this was truthfully an art Aziraphale was more talented at when it came to keeping things and people out, but Crowley was good at setting alarms. Setting up warning bells if anyone wanted to sneak up on them.

He wondered if he should bring out the holy water but thought against it, he wasn’t afraid of anything demonic right now. They had their hands full with a bunch of lone cowboys who wanted to take the law into their own hands when it came to Heaven and vice versa with the new Angels.

Crowley personally found it amusing and it seemed like just the thing to get their eyes off Crowley if he say disappeared from London at the same time an angel did. 

After double checking his markings, he went back into the bathroom to check on Aziraphale and couldn’t help the smile at the sight of Aziraphale peacefully snoozing in the tub, his head resting on the pillow Crowley had arranged on the back of the large spa tub.

He snapped his fingers and the water was drained and with another snap Aziraphale was dry and dressed in Crowley’s warm pajamas.

He was gentle as he collected him into his arms and tucked him into the bed, he was about to leave when he felt a hand grab his.

“Stay,” Aziraphale mumbled still half asleep but not about to let go, his grip tight. Crowley nodded, tossing his sunglasses on the nightstand and yanking his boots, socks and jacket off before climbing in the bed not bothering with the rest. He was planning to sleep on top of the covers but Aziraphale clumsily yanking at the covers told him what he wanted.

Crowley couldn’t deny him, so he slipped under as well and felt Aziraphale curl against him.

“Can you do that thing?” he mumbled.

“What?” Crowley asked, raising his eyebrow in confusion.

“I’m so very tired and I’m not good at sleep,” he mumbled desperately failing to really tell Crowley what he wanted but he got the gist.

He touched his temples gently and gave them a message and mumbled into his ear, “Go to sleep, angel.”

And like turning off a light switch, Aziraphale did, cuddled against Crowley, not letting him get up, head resting on his chest. Crowley smiled down at him, running his fingers through his soft curls.

Despite everything wrong, so very wrong about the situation, this felt right.


	16. Enemy of God

Crowley laid there, staring up at the starry sky he had rendered onto the roof of his canopy bed. He ran his fingers through Aziraphale’s curls as he slept, he didn’t know how to truly help Aziraphale. If he got Gabriel out of his life, what then? How did he help him truly recover? How did he help him not be afraid of the dark corners of his mind? Stop Gabriel’s words from becoming his conscious? 

He saw the wounds, but he didn’t even truly know the extent of the scars. The ones Aziraphale wasn’t going to just show him, the wounds festering in his very essence, the lies he bought as truth.

Aziraphale had always been more attune to emotions then anything else, he sensed Crowley’s fear of the first storm and without question, extended his own wing to guard him not understanding how vulnerable that had truly made him. 

“I gave it away!” echoed in Crowley’s mind once more, he had sensed their fear and without question offered them protection from the scary world his former friends were about to enter. Even if that meant giving away his only weapon, his flaming sword that was connected to him, without it he had no way of fighting any foe he should come across.

Crowley remembered the first time he had ever seen Aziraphale, giggling under a pear tree, so proud of himself for twisting the pattern just right for the flower crown he was making. So proud of himself as he placed it upon his own head.

Crowley wasn’t proud of it now, but he had chosen to be petty to the foolish angel. Willing thorns on the rose he was weaving on the crown for Eve. Never knowing pain before, Aziraphale dropped the flower with a little cry, tears coming to his eyes and unable to heal himself until Eve showed up to help him calm down enough, holding him close a moment and stroking her dear friend’s hair until he comprehended what happened and got over his initial shock.

The blood and the injury had instantly disappeared as he became sunny once more, smiling towards Eve and both sharing a pear together. Aziraphale had promised to finish her crown when she returned from seeing Adam, never to return for that silly little token of Aziraphale’s and man’s innocence as Crowley confronted her at the tree and opened her eyes to the truth and knowledge.

Crowley almost laughed at it now, he had once thought Eve was childish for comforting the angel and now here he was willing to give his very life for the same angel.

Demons were supposed to only feel bitterness and hatred, anger for being banished and wronged, never to heal from the pain in their soul from having Her turn their back on them.

Crowley had been like that once, he had only felt his pain, he couldn’t feel anything else except burning and falling and crying for a mercy that never came.

Aziraphale had somehow changed him, he made him feel like he wasn’t alone, his smile and good nature and gentle ways and oh his willingness to be a right bastard and have a good laugh at other’s expenses with Crowley. Everything he was, everything was the arrangement made Crowley do for good, it healed him. It made a demon relearn what love and happiness were.

“Is that why you made him?” he snarled to the Heavens just now realizing tears were falling and gagged sobs were stuck in his throat, fires of hell sparking through his veins, “To give yer lost and fallen children hope? Then violently yank him from me?”

“Fuck you, fuck your bloody plan and fuck your angels and let the entire fucking kingdom burn, let Hell burn with it while you are at,” he sobbed clinging harder to Aziraphale who slept on unaware of Crowley’s pain, “You aren’t allowed to have him! He’s mine! Do you fucking hear me??! He’s mine and none of yer lot and none of the lot down bellow are allowed to have him!”

;

Two days later, the sun rose after a nasty storm and Aziraphale rose with it.

Crowley hadn’t slept an ounce, he supposed he didn’t truly need sleep anyhow, but sleep had always been as enjoyable as eating was to Aziraphale. No, he didn’t need it, but it felt nice. It made the fog in his brain settle.

He was too paranoid to sleep; he didn’t want to chance Heaven arriving while both were vulnerable, and he was never allowing Gabriel to hurt Aziraphale again. He decided that looking at the angel’s peaceful face, contorting in agony every hour or so as another nightmare hit his conscious, Crowley gently eased them away and replaced them with happy dreams every time it occurred but it disgusted Crowley Heaven was fine with one of their angels suffering like this.

“Good morning, dear boy,” Aziraphale yawned forcing himself to sit up and stretching his arms above his head to get the kinks out.

“I hope I didn’t inconvenience you too terribly,” he gave Crowley a genuine smile, small and apologetic, but it had a shine to it. It didn’t show his pain.

“Never,” Crowley said firmly, he would normally take to joking or exaggerating to mess with the angel, but it wasn’t right. Aziraphale was vulnerable and he needed Crowley to assure him. Maybe one day they could play with each other once more, but Crowley knew Aziraphale needed to recover before that day came.

“Are you feeling better?”

Aziraphale’s small smile helped Crowley untense his shoulders and let go of some of the fire sizzling deep with in him.

“I think so, you did a marvelous job healing me,” he gently grasped Crowley’s hand transferring over as much gratitude as he could sending a small shiver of love through Crowley that made his cheeks bright red, “Thank you.”

“Let me check anyway, demonic healing has never been as strong as angelic,” he paused before adding firmly, “If you want me to anyhow.”

Aziraphale turned his head away, thinking about it a moment before nodding, unbuttoning the borrowed pajama top with gentleness and care before slipping it from his shoulders, folding it beside him while Crowley crept closer.

The bleeding had stopped but the marks still looked fresh, large angry welts protruding from Aziraphale’s deathly thin body. Crowley hesitantly put a hand on Aziraphale’s poor spine poking from the taunt and tight pale skin, silently mourning the loss of the softness that had been here before. Mourning Aziraphale’s innocence he had personally snatched by forcing him to leave the garden. Mourning the gentleness years of emotional abuse and now physical torture were slowly stripping away leaving the angel bare, soon he would have nothing left to give.

“I don’t know what’s wrong with me,” Aziraphale mumbled, “Nothing will heal on its own. It heals and then it will be back. I was so afraid of discorporating and you were the only one I could think to turn to.”

Crowley grasped Aziraphale’s hand and tightly squeezed it. Aziraphale clung to it tight, his rescue rope from the memories, gently he ran fingers over Crowley’s nails, making busy work digging the grime out from under them Crowley hadn’t noticed before.

“I think I’m finally falling Crowley and I was so afraid to be alone.”

A blood vessel must have ruptured somewhere in Crowley’s head, he couldn’t function after Aziraphale’s confession. His vision had a red tint to it, words refused to form, and that heat in veins was making his skin hot to the touch.

Aziraphale cried out letting go of his hand as it began to burn, smoke coming off it from the heat, little sparks popping up. He immediately pulled away from the angel and mumbled he needed to get some air, maybe he asked Aziraphale to go to the kitchen for tea, he didn’t remember.

He went in the bathroom and pulled a pack of cigarettes from his robe hanging behind the door, lighting it up with his burning fingertips.

“You fucking bitch,” he snarled forcing the bathroom window open and glaring up at the sunny day, “That isn’t how fucking falling works, who told him that, you better say your good byes to your favorite son Gabriel, I’m gonna fucking kill him.”

He exhaled a large smog of smoke before crushing the cigarette and slamming the window shut. 

;

Aziraphale had a kettle on the stove when Crowley came into the kitchen, calm enough to control his inner fire to not harm Aziraphale with touch but inside he wanted to go to war with God herself.

Aziraphale was sitting at the counter gently pouring water in the plants soil and stroking the leaves. It looked dead and Aziraphale seemed upset by that, near tears at the plant’s state.

Crowley knew it wasn’t and sent a glare the plant’s way while Aziraphale had his back turned to him, gently he picked the plant up.

“Don’t worry angel,” he said in a soothing voice, “It will be fine. I’ll go put it with the other plant, it’ll be lush and beautiful in no time.”

Once he was out of Aziraphale’s ear shot he hissed to the plant, “For your bloody sake you better be green and lush and full of bloody life soon if ya don’t want to be thrown in the fires.”

“Tell yer new little friend how I tolerate attitude,” he snarled towards the ficus as he dropped the lilac flowers next to it in his office, “Tell him what solitary is like if he keeps up his nonsense and upsetting Aziraphale.”

Out of fear alone the plant seemed to perk up as he stormed out of the room and returned to the kitchen area.

;

Crowley made a light breakfast for Aziraphale, just beans on toast, something Aziraphale often ate. Nothing fancy, just something simple to help Aziraphale’s corporal form recover. To help Aziraphale calm down a little, he was shaking again and looked guilty. If Crowley had a heart it would already be broke at the sad, disgusting state Aziraphale was in.

Aziraphale gave him a wan smile, before taking a small bite of the toast.

“Its good,” he stated, Crowley laughed, that was shorthand for ‘I’m far too polite to tell you its not the worst I’ve had but I could have much better’.

“Do you want me to run down to the café for scones?”

Aziraphale’s eyes widened at the mere implication of Crowley leaving him and he grasped onto Crowley’s hand and squeezed desperately.

Aziraphale ended up abandoning the toast after another bite and drinking the tea he had brewed himself instead. His skin was less transparent as he drank, he didn’t look much healthier, but it was a small improvement.

;

They spent the rest of the day in front of the TV.

Aziraphale started on the far end from Crowley, leaning against the opposite arm but gradually moving closer until Crowley found his arm around the angel’s shoulders, stringing fingers lazily through blonde curls, as Aziraphale leaned against him.

“I missed you so dreadfully,” Aziraphale finally mumbled after hours of nothing but the TV keeping the silence at bay.

“I am so sorry for pushing you away but I was afraid,” he sighed out burying his face in Crowley’s shoulder, “I’m still afraid.”

Aziraphale got up after that and Crowley just watched him a moment as he walked back towards the bedroom and came back fully dressed in his dry cloths after a few moments. He sat back down on the other end of the couch and began pulling his socks and shoes back on.

“Angel?” Crowley asked frowning.

“I need to go back to the shop,” he said gently but firmly, “I am grateful for your help, truly I am but I need to go back.”

Crowley knew the words that were between the lines ‘I need to go back to Gabriel because I’m afraid of falling.’ Crowley felt his heart hammering in his chest, he didn’t want to let him go, he didn’t want him to go back there, but he didn’t have much of a choice did he?

“I’ll give you a ride home.”

Aziraphale smiled gratefully and made his way to the door. Crowley had to think fast, he went into his bedroom and hastily scribbled a sigil on paper and sent a little demonic power into it.

Crowley couldn’t keep Heaven out, he wasn’t strong enough for that but he could know when they arrived. A little warning bell.

It was time for Shadwell to prove to him he was useful.


	17. Setting The Pieces

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally, I was gonna end with angst but I changed my mind and just wanted this chapter as some more recovery and Crowley fussing over Azirpahale.

Crowley parked in front of the shop and got out opening the door for Aziraphale before he could protest, he gave him a weary look as thanks. Crowley winked at him before snapping his fingers and the front door opened for both magically.

“Your car is going to be towed one day,” Aziraphale grumbled in disapproval seeing the wheel on the curb.

“I’d really love to see them try,” Crowley chuckled.

“I believe they have,” Aziraphale said dryly, his disapproval evident. He didn’t appreciate the time law officials kept disappearing to Scotland each time they attempted to write a ticket for the Bentley.

They entered the book shop arguing about what was and what wasn’t appropriate to do to mortals merely doing their jobs and it felt so normal. Like the last hundred years never happened, the fight over holy water, Gabriel, the stretches of time Aziraphale shoved him away, none of it happened.

It was Aziraphale and Crowley and their little arrangement, hardly any intervention from either side, just the two of them existing on Earth. Almost existing on their own little side.

“Morally, revenge isn’t bad, as long as its…” Aziraphale trailed off, the thought lost to him as he stepped into the kitchen and Crowley felt his own words die at the mess.

There was a stack of dishes peaking from the sink, molding and looking like they hadn’t been touched in a good month.

The shop had always been on the dusty side, mainly to keep out people Aziraphale was certain would harm his precious books by loitering, but the kitchen had always been spotless. A clean and well-loved area Aziraphale loved to bake from the cookbooks he had lying about.

“Oh dear, I had forgotten how dreadful it is in here,” he said turning to Crowley apologetically, “I’m afraid I can’t offer you tea or wine for that matter since I had forgotten to clean the dishes once more.”

Forgotten to clean the dishes was another one of those understatements that piled up around them these days, every dish Aziraphale owned was stacked in the sink rotting to nothing and the cabinets were bare. It didn’t even look like Aziraphale had gone to the market in some time, there was no garbage overflowing, just a few take out boxes that looked like they had been sitting there for weeks. 

There wasn’t even the stale scent of rotting meat or curdled dairy, Crowley would have picked up on that entering the shop, that likely meant Aziraphale hadn’t had anything stored in here except tea for months. Months without baking, humming along to his phonograph as he looked over recipes and pouring love into new foods to share with his neighbors.

Crowley really took in the cloths hanging from his deathly thin frame, really absorbing how it reflected how raw and tender his emotional state must be for him to go so long without his favorite pleasures.

Gentle, he reminded himself, don’t rush him and don’t hurt him, his mind commanded firmer pushing the fire and the brimstone down. He hooked his arm around Aziraphale’s shoulders and brought him close steering him from the room and taking him upstairs. He hesitantly took a glance into the backroom, dark and foreboding, a place that Crowley would only associate with nightmares and torture now, no place in Hell could ever be as terrifying as the place his mind liked to remind him Gabriel raped Aziraphale. The place his mind liked to remind him he found him bloody and bruised and, in such shock, he couldn’t even speak to him. 

He gently sat Aziraphale in his favorite chair in the loft and he sat against the window frame, glancing down at the neighborhood, glaring at Shadwell useless as ever bringing out the morning flower cart. What good was he, some bloody witch hunter, all he did was blame his angel for not taking his attitude problems and didn’t do a damn thing about the evil rotting the shop. 

“Aziraphale,” he said with a gentle sigh really looking at his angel, “Can you promise me something?”

Aziraphale gave him that look, that hesitant look that meant his brain was going on overload already over thinking just the mere implication of making a promise with a demon. Something Heaven told him was wrong. Something he already did and he considered was wrong and probably lumped into why he deserved to raped. Crowley’s stomach turned and swam at the implication.

He desperately grasped Aziraphale’s hand and squeezed it hard making the angel concentrate on him.

“Please, contact me when you are hurting and need someone, don’t suffer alone anymore.”

“I don’t wish—” Aziraphale began but Crowley gently placed his hand on the angel’s wan and sunk in cheek, caressing it, bringing a flush to his face bringing some much needed color.

“Its not an inconvenience!” he said firmly, desperately, “I need to hear you promise you will or I’m not letting you stay here, I’ll bloody kidnap you if I must.”

Aziraphale frowned but finally sighed grasping the hand caressing his cheek and mumbled out that he swore he wouldn’t suffer alone; Crowley may do what he wishes if he breaks the promise. His hand glowed a moment and Crowley’s hand burned at the touch of holiness.

An angel’s word meant a lot though, it was entering its own contract, he trusted Crowley enough to do what he thought was right if Aziraphale broke that oath. 

“My darling, can you promise me something in return?”

Crowley nodded, gently running his fingers soothingly across Aziraphale’s cheek. Aziraphale raised his hand and pulled Crowley’s sunglasses down so they were looking each other in the eyes as he said firmly with no room for arguments.

“Please do not try to harm Gabriel nor pick fights with anyone in Heaven,” Crowley opened his mouth to argue but Aziraphale cut him off with a look, “You do not understand. I know you do not my darling, that is why I didn’t want you to find out, but this is right. This is just. This is what Heaven thinks I deserve and as a servant of the lord, it is my duty to take the punishment for my sins.”

Crowley didn’t argue he softly agreed as Aziraphale had agreed to his conditions.

Unlike an angel’s word, a demon’s word wasn’t worth the breath used to utter them, Crowley’s words were pleasant nothings. Something to give Aziraphale peace of mind. It wouldn’t be Crowley who killed Gabriel anyway, it had already been arranged.

He just needed to nudge the pieces into place for now.

;

Crowley went downstairs with the excuse of cleaning up the kitchen and making tea. While he did both of those things, he also added in a more personal task. He pulled his scribbled sigil from his pocket, this one was special, it wasn’t anything truly special.

Any lower level demon could make one, it alerted you when a Heavenly host entered an area, this was usually just a precaution for demons to get out of there if they didn’t want to be smited for doing their normal seedy deeds. Crowley didn’t need to be alerted of holy presence in this area though, it would alert him every time Aziraphale moved, driving him insane.

He specialized this one, he poured in all his hatred for one particular angel and had drawn his particular sigil onto paper to only alert him if the Archangel Gabriel entered the shop. He pulled one of Aziraphale’s framed pictures from the wall of his back room, an original Da Vinci sketch made out for him, sticking the sigil behind it before returning the frame to its spot. 

He snapped his fingers and the kitchen was in order once more, he put the kettle on the old stove before stepping out of the shop to run to the bakery down the road for some pastries. He wouldn’t be gone long, he called upstairs to Aziraphale he was stepping out a moment and sighed when he got no response. 

He made his orders at the bakery and found himself with an extra dozen of croissants stuffed with berries and cream cheese fresh from the oven. The young waitress gave him a smile.

“You’re Mr. Fell’s friend,” she said with a smile, “I’ve seen you picking him up in yer car a few times.”

“Something like that,” Crowley neither agreed nor denied to being Aziraphale’s friend.

“He seems so ill,” the young woman continued as if not hearing him, “Mum thinks he might have cancer the way his weight keeps going up and down like it does. Please give him my regards, Mr. Fell is a good man, I’m glad someone is here to take care of him.”

Crowley gave the young woman a large tip, slipping it in her apron when she turned away from him to clean up the front tables.

Aziraphale felt he deserved to be tortured, felt he deserved pain, yet even the mortals knew he was gentle and good natured. He could be selfish; he could be a petty and he could hold a grudge like the bastard he was but those were just human flaws. Those weren’t even worth damnation. How could not wanting to sell your signed Wilde Collection and getting into a petty squabble with customers that went no where be compared to Gabriel forcing himself onto someone weaker than him?

Aziraphale wasn’t always perfect but those things just made him interesting, his flaws didn’t truly hurt anyone and if they did he did eventually apologize (even if it took 400 years while he pouted like a petulant child about not getting his way).

Before returning to the shop he stopped by Mrs. Doyle’s flower shop. The bell announcing his arrival as he stepped in.

Shadwell was stuffing flowers in soil clumsily, the pretty pots stained with dark substance running down the side he didn’t even bother to clean up. Anyone else would fire this buffoon but unfortunately for Mrs. Doyle and unfortunately for Crowley, he was the best either would get as an employee.

“Hello,” he said coyly and Shadwell didn’t recognize him which was good, it meant the demonic seal was doing its job, “I would like to purchase my friend some flowers, he’s feeling rather down, what would you suggest?”

“Do I bloody look like I would know what ye would want?”

Crowley chuckled, ah just as conversational as he remembered, it was alright, it was just part of the show in case anyone was watching. He leaned towards Shadwell as if to ask him something specifically and time temporarily stopped. He leaned close to Shadwell and mumbled to his very soul, the soul he owned, something he wouldn’t be able to deny if he wished to.

“I’m transferring to you the knowledge when the archangel Gabriel will be in Fell’s shop. When he arrives, you stab him through the heart with the knife I gave you seven times. Its very important that you are quick about this. When Fell demands to know who did this, who told you to do this, you will not remember me. You tell him you are doing this because you knew Gabriel was a witch and it is your duty to slay that evil.”

After that time began once more and Crowley left the shop with a lovely bouquet of assorted flowers.

;

“Do you need anything before I go?”

Crowley didn’t want to go, he never wanted to leave again but Aziraphale expected him to leave. He expected him to just try to let things go back to normal.

Crowley was waiting outside the bathroom door as Aziraphale got ready for bed, his corporal form was weak and needed rest and after a small argument, Aziraphale agreed to go to bed.

Aziraphale stepped out of the bathroom and seemed to put one foot back in the 1800s with his tartan sleeping gown and almost adorable matching nightcap. The only thing modern were the pink bunny slippers Crowley didn’t even want to question where he got them, he just soaked him in. This was the being he was in love with and willing to die for. He would have it any other way he thought with a small smile watching Aziraphale dig in the closet.

“I don’t think so, darling, but really, you want me to sleep every night?”

Crowley rolled his eyes, “I will not have this conversation again. You are healing, you need to rest and I want you eating one meal a day too.”

Aziraphale frowned at him and huffed pulling down a little box from the top shelf and pushing it into Crowley’s arms as he began tidying up the bed.

“I’m going against my bloody nature as a demon to take care of you,” Crowley huffed putting the box down and making sure Aziraphale climbed into bed, “And you are either gonna do what I say or I’m stashing you away in the apartment again.”

Aziraphale rolled his eyes, grumbling under his breath but didn’t argue with Crowley’s terms.

Crowley opened the box and found his blanket he had wrapped around Aziraphale that awful night.

“I don’t want to taint it, darling,” Aziraphale mumbled but Crowley wasn’t having any of it, tucking it around Aziraphale just like he had done that night.

“Go to sleep, angel,” he commanded placing a kiss on Aziraphale’s forehead and Aziraphale fell fast asleep with a little smile on his face.


	18. Her

Crowley tossed in his bed physically, a pale wisp of moonlight lighting up his face making him almost glow in the darkness around him.

In his dreams he slithered across the garden, long blades of perfectly green grass tickling against him as he slid towards Aziraphale, glowing and healthy, curves of fat clinging to silk robes and pearly white feathers shifting and glimmering with the breeze. He smiled brightly down to Crowley, holding forth a lovely flower crown for him woven with forget me nots and lilacs. Crowley shifted back to his more human form to accept the gift, it rested perfectly on his red head, flowers tangling in long red locks. Aziraphale giggled, untangling them with his hand.

Crowley tried to make out what Aziraphale was calling him but couldn’t, the words were distorted, corrupted and forgotten to time. Crowley no longer remembered how to say that name, much less how to hear it properly.

“I heard your prayers.”

“Aziraphale,” Crowley said cupping the smiling angel’s chubby cheek. Taking in the softness, letting his fingers melt there, it felt right, and it felt as it should be, in the garden with his angel healthy and by his side. The angel was his prayers, the only one he would ever need answered.

Aziraphale gently shook his head, taking Crowley’s hand from his cheek with a mischievous little smile and setting it back on Crowley’s lap before running his fingers through his wings and dislodging a few broken and molting feathers.

“I only appear as what you love most in your heart and it is just ironic it is one of my servants. My youngest and favored child.”

“You fucking bitch,” Crowley snarled to Aziraphale but he would never be able to harm that face, even if it wasn’t him. Even if it was only his manipulative boss.

Aziraphale winked to him, resting his head, almost bored, against his open palm. Lounging lazily against the apple tree, fingers creeping up and snatching an apple from one of the lower branches and staring into its reflective red surface.

“The Mettaton filters millions of prayers a day, not many get directed to me these days but a demon screaming blasphemy towards me? That happens rarer than you would expect. You had the Mettaton in quite a huff, he wanted to complain directly to Hell’s HR, but I denied it.” 

“I’m going to fucking burn Heaven to the ground!” He screamed fangs baring and scales breaking out across his skin as smog began flowing from his voice, twisting with every word.

“I got that,” Aziraphale said rolling his eyes and pouting out his lips, tilting his head in that petulant way only he could (only Aziraphale could, he reminded himself, the real angel, not this bitch), “But why? Or more importantly, why does a demon who is so deeply devoted to one of my angels rage against me when it could mean Aziraphale turning his back to you as well?”

“How the fuck can you ask me that??!” he screamed angrily throwing his flower crown on the ground and watching it burst into flames along with the rest of the garden.

Ash rained around him as the flames were blown away by a gentle breeze, the garden dissolving with it, burning to ash and nothing, taking Aziraphale with it. Nothing left in the dark, moonlit desert but a single apple from the tree that had once been there, once held between the almighty’s fingers.

Take a bite if you ever wish to have a more civil conversation, a voice whistled through his ears. Echoing around the desert, the wind picking up harder, a mini dust storm blowing over Crowley as he was left alone to seethe.

Crowley snarled squeezing the apple clasped between his fingers. All of Heaven was useless and not worth his time.

He woke grasping the same apple from his dream, he snarled loudly tossing it in a drawer, not to be touched.

;

Crowley pulled up the bookshop, a sneer on his face and a cigarette hanging from his lips, he carried his anger from the dream with him the entire morning. He didn’t want to upset Aziraphale who was in a fragile state mentally, so he had taken it out on anyone who dared cross his path while in the market. He was very devoted to Aziraphale, the bitch wasn’t wrong about that, and unlike Her he was doing something about his deteriorating state.

Unlike that liar in the sky, he had no one except Aziraphale. If he died, he would be lost in an underworld of demons who didn’t care about him and surrounded by mortals whose expiration date ran much sooner then his own. Heaven and Hell were two sides of the same coin and both mastered in torture, always there to take and take until you had nothing left. Aziraphale was the thing they weren’t allowed to have. To Hell with the rest, burn the Earth, let Hell finally rot, set flames to Heaven, take everything, but leave Aziraphale with Crowley and it would be enough.

He popped the trunk and began unloading the groceries. He had never done his own shopping before; it was an experience he would rather do without. He would keep to hiring people to do his shopping and maybe force the boy who did it for him to do it for Aziraphale as well until he got back on his feet again.

Today, he just needed to calm down enough to ease the fire in the pit of his stomach. Aziraphale was abused enough, he needed a gentle touch. He deserved someone to give him a gentle touch and Crowley was determined to be that person.

“Crowley,” Aziraphale said putting down the book he was reading, standing on his little step ladder (later he would claim he was reorganizing the books).

“I have come bearing gifts to fill your cabinets,” Crowley said with his mischievous smile lifting the paper bag a bit so Aziraphale could get a better view.

“Oh, that is so nice of you, darling.”

Aziraphale began giggling at Crowley’s sneer and took the bag from him taking it to the kitchen. Crowley could have just as easily snapped his fingers and brought in all the bags from the car and stored them away, but something told him they both needed a distraction. Crowley from his anger and Aziraphale from his clawing depression.

Crowley brought in the last bag just in time to hear Aziraphale’s utter disapproval at his idea of shopping.

“Really Crowley?” he said firmly turning towards the demon, “Canned food? Why would I ever need these? This is barely food! It’s processed garbage!”

“You need to eat angel,” Crowley said not taking no for an answer on this one, “Your corporal form needs you to make an effort to care for it. If you can’t miracle it healthy, you have to do it the human way and you don’t always have the energy to make home bloody made!”

“Chicken soup does not belong in a can,” Aziraphale said firmly hissing at the label of canned soups Crowley had gotten him then slamming it down on the counter as if it personally offended him. It was so petulant, so petty and so absolutely Aziraphale to get up in arms over something so small, Crowley found himself smiling despite the frustration that would come of forcing Aziraphale to make do for now. 

“I got you fresh fruit in this bag if it will make you feel better, you bloody spoiled prince,” Crowley mock grumbled shoving the last bag into Aziraphale’s arms.

Aziraphale didn’t look amused peaking into the bag and pulling a shiny pink apple.

“You wily old serpent,” Aziraphale said unamused shoving the bag back at Crowley, making him chuckle, pulling an apple from the bag.

He pulled the angel playfully close but lose enough to slip away if he didn’t want to be touched, holding the apple before his lips.

“I learned a fun phrase while in America,” he said in a no-nonsense sort of way, twisting the apple a little, “An apple a day keeps the doctor away.”

Aziraphale scoffed and mumbled about how preposterous that was gently shoving Crowley away without taking a single bite, Crowley snickered tossing the apple back in the bag.

;

It was lunch time and Crowley found himself frowning when he asked Aziraphale to lunch and he denied him. That wasn’t the surprising part since Aziraphale had gone to work making ‘proper’ soup after his own trip to the market with Crowley, but the reasoning behind why they couldn’t leave.

“I invited Shadwell over to lunch.”

Crowley raised an eyebrow at that, watching Aziraphale busy himself about the kitchen, reheating the soup and making sandwiches to go with it. Putting the tea pot on to boil last. Straightening the cute frilly pink apron he wore to keep food from his dress shirt a moment, sensing Crowley’s ‘why?’ and feeling he needed a good answer.

“I’m afraid I did something rather…cruel to him for a selfish reason,” he finally whispered, “It eats at my conscious.”

“Nothing more then someone like him would ever deserve angel,” Crowley began but Aziraphale shook his head.

“I know outwardly, he is a buffoon and not at all a pleasant man to be around,” he sighed working through his words with each wrung of his fingers during his pause, “But he is rather kind, deep down and does do what he considers right and just. I find that commendable, truly I do.”

Crowley ran his fingers through Aziraphale’s hair and gently wiped at the leaking tears with his thumb.

“Do you remember what I did to King Arthur’s Court? How none of them were ever quite right after I made them forget about burning me at the stake? How they walked in about in a daze for a week? How even after their actions were just never right? How they were always forgetful and their actions more violent and erratic then normal? How Lancelot murdered Gaheris in cold blood in a bout of confusion due to me messing with his brain?”

Crowley winced he did remember that, he remembered how Aziraphale had just disappeared after that. He didn’t see the angel again for another four hundred years after that incident. He pulled Aziraphale close to him.

“That’s not gonna happen to Shadwell, angel,” he mumbled soothingly, “I’m sure he will be fine. You don’t need to get yourself wound up about it now, I’m sure you had a good reason to make him forget.”

Aziraphale didn’t look sure but Crowley wasn’t about to admit he knew exactly what and why he took the buffoon’s memory away nor how it replayed painfully in his dreams. He merely held Aziraphale a moment until he calmed enough to finish up afternoon tea.

;

Crowley sat on steps leading to the alley in the backway, smoking a cigarette to calm his nerves.

Shadwell had just blown Aziraphale off, just bloody left, Aziraphale puts himself in a terrible state getting lunch for the man and he blows him off. He rudely told Aziraphale no and took the bus home.

The buffoon better count himself lucky he needed him or he would murder him. He was so caught up in his angry thoughts, he didn’t hear Aziraphale exit the shop and settle on the step next to him.

He held his hand out and Crowley just stared at it.

“May I have one, darling?” he finally mumbled, heat rising to his cheeks making him cuter then he had any right to be making Crowley chuckle as he passed him one, even doing him the favor of lighting it up with his finger as it touched his lips.

“It helps with the nerves sometimes,” he mumbled exhaling smoke without a single cough, he had been keeping this new nasty habit a secret for sometime it seemed.

He rested his head on Crowley’s shoulder and when Crowley turned his head to ask him about it, he caught him in a small kiss, blowing a little tickle of smoke into the demon as he deepened the kiss.

Crowley was the one to pull away and gently shook his head, placing a kiss on Aziraphale’s forehead at his new pain. Inside it killed Crowley as well he had to deny him something they both mutually wanted but it wasn't right.

“Not yet,” he mumbled out, dropping his cigarette to the ground and crushing it under his boot before going inside to deal with the annoying customer who entered.

He left Aziraphale behind to slowly smoke and let his new pain waft away with each puff. Being denied could hurt but Crowley knew he was hurt enough by people just taking as they wanted from him, he wasn’t going to be like that.

Aziraphale deserved better.


	19. Want vs Need

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some Quick notes: 
> 
> I decided to make this into a series, this story solely focusing on Azi leaving Gabriel and the next dealing with recovery and the apocalypse. 
> 
> I have been updating really quick lately but I feel like that might slow down since I have a lot to do this week and I'm leaving for vacation soon, so enjoy them while they last ;)

Aziraphale sat alone in his loft, sleep eluding him. He knew he had promised Crowley to sleep every night to help himself heal but it just wasn’t coming tonight. He had lain there with his eyes shut and his mind whirling for what felt like hours until he decided to just get up.

He didn’t feel up to reading or watching the small television Crowley forced him to allow in his shop. He went to his nightstand and pulled out a small dagger, it looked rusted and had seen better days. There were sigils scratched across the handle, it was demonic in nature, a weapon forged in Hell fire to harm an angelic essence, like his.

He had no clue why Shadwell had it and had found no answers with the smaller demons he knew hung around London’s underbelly. He knew he should just ask Crowley about it, this was important, in fact he had no idea why he hadn’t turned it into Heaven. This was dangerous and it was very dangerous to outright slay anyone on either side. Smiting and discorporating were one thing but death would lead to the war happening prematurely, tipping the scales unevenly and humanity being wiped out before it was even their time. Going against the ineffable plan, something neither side was too keen on. 

He ran his finger across the daggers dull blade, it looked harmless, humans would take it as nothing more then garbage. He hissed as it pricked his fingertip and instead of the usual red blood from his human shape, a golden red bubbled to the surface. His true essence. 

He sighed, putting his finger in his mouth and sucking the blood a moment. It didn’t heal and it didn’t stop bleeding. He got up and walked to the bathroom, pulling out the little first aid kit Crowley had put there for him and wrapped a small band aid on the small prick. 

He smiled imaging Crowley mother Henning over his tiny little injury and chuckled a little settling back into his chair and looking at the streetlamps.

He thought of Crowley denying his advances and giving him a gentle kiss on the head, he thought of his gentle touch. It was so strange, so unlike what he was used to. He thought of Gabriel forcing him to lean against his own desk, kicking his legs apart and striking him with his belt before—before---

He clasped his eyes shut, pulling his knees close to his chest and grabbed a handful of his hair, gasped sobs falling from his lips. 

He wasn’t sitting upstairs in his loft; he was nervously waiting for Gabriel to arrive. He knew he was going to be rough today, he had messed up, he had just ruined Shadwell’s life, he knew the risks of forcing change on the human mind, going against free will, and he had done it anyway. 

He wasn’t safe in his loft in his favorite chair, Gabriel had a handful of his hair, slamming his upper body onto the desk, his forehead smacking hard into a heavy paperweight; papers and pens flying off. He was dazed a moment and almost didn’t feel Gabriel undoing his belt, almost didn’t feel his pants being forced down. He yelped feeling Gabriel’s harsh smack against his bony bottom with his hand.

He was telling him something, he was chiding him, Aziraphale tried to pay attention, he really did. He just couldn’t catch the words. He didn’t hear anything but the pounding of his own heart until the first crack of his own belt against his skin.

Again and again and again until he lost feeling down there, until he had to be steadied by Gabriel angrily grabbing his hips. Angrily forcing his cock between his tender and wounded flesh, Aziraphale praying for the pain to stop. Praying to Her, desperately trying to tell her he was sorry but no answer ever came.

Aziraphale clung to his hair and tried to shake the memory loose from his thoughts, dagger clattering on the ground. He didn’t want to go back there, it hurt so much. He deserved this though, didn’t he?

Tears streamed from his cheeks and huddled close to himself choking and gasping and praying for it to end. His prayers went unheard, were they ever heard at all?

He clumsily fell to the floor as he tried to get up, a knot growing in his stomach and aching worse than anything Gabriel had ever done to him.

Had his prayers ever been heard at all?

Did She hear him?

Did She hear his begs for forgiveness? Begs for it all to stop, he didn’t want to feel this way anymore. Why was he thinking such blasphemous thoughts? She loved him, she must, she had to…

“You don’t love your mistakes,” he found himself whispering through a loud sob, his stomach heaved at those words. A strange lurching, an awful new taste in his mouth, he gagged on it and a putrid odor followed as gross matter splashed on the floor beside him. He vomited the chunks of soup and sandwich Crowley had shared with him earlier and his stomach lurched until the only thing that came out was foul yellow substance.

He forced himself to sit up, not sure if he would manage standing yet, he should call Crowley. He needed Crowley.

But does he need you? A voice whispered in his ear, it sounded like Gabriel, it sounded like it was telling him something important he didn’t understand.

He knew Crowley loved him, truly he did, it was going against everything a demon was to care for someone like him. He often wondered if Crowley falling was a huge mistake, a misunderstanding that could be resolved. Crowley was a good person; he was more angelic then even Aziraphale. Crowley wasn’t a mistake; he was good and kind and forced into his most horrendous deeds by Hell. He felt love, something no one could truly feel if they didn’t have a glimmer of Her light in them.

Aziraphale wasn’t worthy of that love though and maybe Crowley was starting to understand and he feared the day he would fully understand why Gabriel had to do what he did. He was so disgusting and foul he made Gabriel’s heart blacken. He hadn’t fallen but he felt as though she had left him. This was his punishment, suffering and atoning, unable to heal himself.

Crowley loved him, that he didn’t doubt, he proved that.

But, did he need him? Would he be better without Aziraphale dragging him down? Would Heaven notice how wonderful he was without Aziraphale tainting him with his own imperfection or could he even be a better Demon if that was what he truly wanted, if Aziraphale wasn’t always there dragging him down?

Was he a needed factor in Crowley’s life like Aziraphale had forced Crowley to be in his own life? Aziraphale was weak and afraid of being alone and taking the punishment he deserved. Aziraphale was the one too afraid to reach out to anyone else to see if what Gabriel was doing was just. He was afraid to ask the Mettaton if his prayers were getting through, so afraid of the answer. Aziraphale was so tainted. She would never answer his prayers, no matter how loud he said them.

Shaking, he stared at his own reflection in the blade of the knife before shaking his head and finally managing to get up. He tossed the knife back in his nightstand and sat in his chair using the phone Crowley made sure was hooked up right stairs to call the demon. If for no other reason to keep his promise.

“Hello?” Crowley grumbled into the receiver, half asleep still and making Aziraphale almost feel guilty for interrupting him.

He finally willed himself to answer after another grumbled ‘hello’ and Crowley calling out his name sensing it was him.

“I made a bit of a mess,” Aziraphale managed to get out, feeling a shame about this entire situation. He woke Crowley up in the middle of the night simply because he vomited. Humans did it all the time and didn’t cry about it like he had.

“Hold the phone back,” Crowley instructed and Aziraphale did as was asked of him and in an instant Crowley popped into the room from the other end of the phone. 

“Angel, what happened to your forehead?” Crowley asked gently as he stepped over to the angel, almost afraid to touch him like he was fragile. Aziraphale touched where Crowley was staring and winced at the sudden sharp pain. He remembered again Gabriel slamming his upper body against the desk and his head colliding hard with a paperweight, his stomach began to bubble again.

Crowley was quick as he grabbed a rubbish bin and Aziraphale hurled his gross matter in there this time rather then his once pristine carpet. Crowley held him in an awkward one arm hug the entire time, using his other arm to hold the rubbish bin close until Aziraphale began to heave, nothing left in his stomach to bring up.

“Has this happened before?” Crowley asked eying him and Aziraphale stared down at the yellow substance in his rubbish bin, shaking his head. 

Crowley handed him a glass of water after a moment and encouraged Aziraphale to drink it as he just took in the vomit on the floor. He snapped his fingers and it was as if it had never happened. 

“What happened?” 

It was a simple question and honestly it had a simple answer, but it felt like Aziraphale just didn’t have the right answer. He shook his head saying without words he wasn’t sure how to answer that.

Crowley nodded, didn’t force him to do anything, sighing as he got up. He walked into the bathroom and prepared Aziraphale a bath. Aziraphale had gotten so used to Crowley’s company, he didn’t suppose it mattered if he saw him naked anymore. He pulled off his night gown (he hadn’t bothered putting on undergarments, it didn’t feel like it mattered when it was just him in the loft) and heard Crowley let out a little hiss. He moved his hand to his backside and stiffened feeling blood running down his thigh. It was almost as if Gabriel had just been here and that had all just occurred instead of it being confined to his memories. 

“I don’t understand,” Aziraphale mumbled more to himself staring in shock horror at the blood and now registering the pain wasn’t just in his head, it was a fresh wound once more.

“We’re going back to my apartment,” Crowley decided for them going over to Aziraphale’s closet and yanking out one of his old tan suitcases and popping it open. He began tossing in Aziraphale’s fresh pressed and neatly hung up clothes without a care into the case.

Aziraphale’s heart lurched as Crowley’s rampage ended up at the nightstand. Without thinking, he quickly protested stepping in front of it and holding Crowley’s arm.

“Crowley!” he hissed, “My undergarments are in that drawer!”

Crowley gave him a strange look, raising an eyebrow and looking down to Aziraphale stark naked in front of him. Aziraphale stood his ground though, childishly stomping his foot and crossing his arms.

“You do not just go through someone’s undergarments! That isn’t proper!”

Crowley rolled his eyes knowing he wasn’t winning this round and began grumbling telling him to hurry up as he marched down the stairs to call a cab from the shop giving Aziraphale time to clean up and pack his own undergarments.

Slowly Aziraphale opened the drawer and peered down at the dagger staring back at him. He felt ashamed he didn’t want Crowley to know he had it. It felt shameful to own something like this and not tell anyone. Not Gabriel, not Crowley, no one who loved him and had his best interest at heart.

He got dressed and tucked the dagger into his deep pocket after sheathing it in an old case to prevent accidental cuttings or stabbings.

He clasped his hands and closed his eyes begging the lord to tell him what to do, what he could to make the pain stop and he got nothing but silence. The weight on his leg was as reassuring as it was frightening, maybe that was the answer. Nothing happened on accident, it was all part of the ineffable plan.

Crowley returned upstairs to Aziraphale silently crying looking out the window. He took him by the hand gently and picked up the suitcase. He assured Aziraphale he had a few of his favorite tomes packed downstairs.

Aziraphale smiled, Crowley was always so kind and considerate, he hated how he had to pull him down like this.


	20. Forgiveness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some warnings: 
> 
> Self harm in this chapter and I am not a religious person and just used google to look up prophets ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯

“Angel.”

Crowley was knelt in front of Aziraphale, tightly holding his shaking hands not letting him run away from this conversation. He ran a thumb across Aziraphale’s pale knuckles, his sunglasses were off forcing Aziraphale to see his fear.

“I know you don’t want to talk about it,” Crowley sighed resting his head wearily on Aziraphale’s lap, “But last night was very concerning.” 

“I don’t understand what happened,” Aziraphale mumbled, running his fingers through Crowley’s red hair trying to give himself some distraction from the thoughts that plagued his head. 

“Let’s try to figure out then,” Crowley begged holding Aziraphale’s hand tighter but not raising his head, “Just tell me what you were doing before you vomited.”

“I couldn’t sleep.”

Crowley squeezed his hand tighter encouraging him to keep talking. 

Aziraphale didn’t say anymore about the situation, he stared at the muted television in front of them in Crowley’s living room. He felt shame. He was ashamed to tell Crowley he knew he was loved by him and yet he stared at a weapon considering it was fated by Her he would be the end to his own suffering. He was ashamed to tell Crowley he stayed up just to think about being violated, he was ashamed he deserved that treatment and had considered weaseling his way out of his deserved punishment by using an unholy object on his unholy flesh, considered suicide. A very hefty sin.

His shame was flaring and turning into frustration, the kind he couldn’t explain. The kind of feeling that lead him to breaking his own things and then crying as he repaired them. He didn’t like this feeling and he always regretted it as soon as he did it.

He huffed loudly, nostrils flaring in anger, shoving poor kind and caring Crowley away from him. He forced himself up on shaky legs and nearly fell forcing himself to grip the doorway between living room and kitchen, just to give him some space from Crowley. He didn’t know why he was taking his frustration out on him.

“It doesn’t matter! I don’t know!” he bellowed petulantly like a rude and impish child. The kind of child he always frowned upon entering his shop.

“It does matter!” Crowley snared back at him jumping up as well, “You were injured! Did that son of a bitch enter your shop last night??”

“Don’t call Gabriel such things!” Aziraphale found himself hissing, nostrils flaring and heart pounding, knuckles turning white the harder he gripped the walkway, “Gabriel is not doing anything wrong!”

“That is what he bloody is, angel! He’s fucking more than that! He’s a monster! Worse than any demon in hell!” Crowley bellowed angrily throwing something making Aziraphale flinch and press himself further into the doorway at the smashing of what sounded like the TV, “He comes in beats you and then, not done, he rapes you! And then he calls it holy! Please, please, stop defending him!”

“Look at you!” Crowley yelled, so desperately, breaking down himself, “He hurt you so severely you can’t even heal! Darling, please, think logically, if Hastur were to come in my home and rape me and leave me bloody on the floor, what would you think??!” 

“That would be different…” Aziraphale whispered, fingers turning a stark white the harder he clung to the wall, staring at Crowley’s clock ticking away on the back wall.

“How would it be different? Would you defend that too??!” 

Crowley’s voice was breaking, he really believed Aziraphale would be alright with such a thing?! It sounded as if he would believe Aziraphale would leave him and believe he deserved such a thing! The anger flared once more.

“How can you say that!?” Aziraphale screamed turning so fast to send a glare at Crowley he fell to the floor. Hitting the hard wood and gasping at the bruise that likely came from it, “How can you say that…”

He felt tears streaming from his eyes and he angrily swiped at them, curling into himself.

“It would be different if it were you,” he sobbed out as Crowley bent on the floor next to him and let Aziraphale bury himself in his arms. 

“It would be senseless and violent and appalling if it were a demon or human, something with no reason. Something wicked and deserving of punishment for a depraved soul to prey on the weak.” 

“How is it different when its an angel?” Crowley hissed, his own tears falling, “How can you say its different?”

“It is divine reckoning,” Aziraphale gasped through heavy sobs, “You don’t understand, you just don’t understand!” 

“But demons were once angels,” Crowley reminded Aziraphale nestling his head in Aziraphale’s blonde curls.

Aziraphale didn’t know how to explain to Crowley how it wasn’t Gabriel risking himself falling but Aziraphale who had once lusted over a human and now lusted for a demon. Aziraphale who sinned and lied to the lord’s face, who gave away what was gifted to him and would be seen as a spit in the face to the almighty.

Aziraphale who saved wicked souls during the great flood, sneaking children onto Noah’s ark.

Aziraphale who constantly disobeyed and never learned, not Gabriel. 

He took in heavy sobs, he felt like he was suffocating in his own self-appointed misery. He was being foolish and a coward, like always. This is what got him into these messes and he never learned.

Maybe he gasped out he couldn’t breathe, he didn’t know, he just saw Crowley’s panic as he hefted him off the floor.

;

He must have passed out for he awoke later in Crowley’s bed with a lukewarm hand towel resting on his forehead.

Crowley wasn’t home when he went into the kitchen to make tea, there was a note on the fridge explaining how he went to go buy some groceries. Aziraphale didn’t completely buy that, he had upset Crowley and he probably went out to drink after dealing with Aziraphale’s tantrum.

He went to his suitcase and pulled out the knife buried deep inside his pant pocket. He picked out a robe and pajama set before turning away from his meager belongings here.

Then stepped in the bathroom locking the door and turning on the shower after stripping his clothes and tossing them on the floor.

He remembered the story of Jeremiah, the prophet who had to suffer to appease the Lord. The more he questioned his suffering and the more he spoke out, the more he suffered. He didn’t trust in Her and so she continued to test him.

Aziraphale let the water run over him, staring at the blade in his hand, he always rather thought morally he was above mortals. He was an angel, he wasn’t cast from Grace, he was allowed to enter Heaven, Her kingdom, anytime he desired.

But the more his prayers went silent and the more he suffered for his sins, he didn’t quite think he and the mortals were as different as once perceived.

Demons were once Angels, Crowley was right, sinning and not being forgiven meant he was to be cast from Heaven and into the inferno of fire sooner rather then later.

Maybe he was being tested, but what was the right thing to do? All he asked for was guidance from his mother and he got none in return. She always gave her prophets that, they got to speak to her, but her angels weren’t always as lucky. They always had to go through the Mettaton, just as anyone not chosen had to and it was never guaranteed they would speak onto her.

You must bleed for forgiveness, he heard Sandalphon hissing at him once more, That is the only way you can show her you will do anything for her. You are devoted solely to her and her love.

Maybe the blood wasn’t the same when others bled you, he considered, he had to prove to Her he was devoted to her and filled with Her love.

He had to prove it so it would stop, so he could have guidance, so he would stop hurting Crowley like this. Stop making Gabriel do these things.

With care, he ran the blade across his thigh, a narrow slither of golden red blood shined and washed away under the water pressure. Taking an even breath, he braced himself and deepened the wound.

He grit his teeth and prayed, begged for forgiveness. 

He slit another narrow line across his flesh and prayed. Then deepened that wound, praying harder when he got no answer.

Another small slit on his hip where Gabriel was always forced to hold him down when he squirmed, then deepening it more.

He prayed so hard and so loud the water splashing him turned holy, but he still got no response. He shakily reached up and turned the water off, he sat a moment, holding his hand over his bleeding wound. The deepest first cut on his mid-thigh was gushing still while the others were beginning to close.

He got out of the shower, feeling dizzy, vision a little blurry. He had worse he considered, digging the first aid kit out from under the sink, it was nothing, but a scratch compared to the wounds Sandalphon left. He just didn’t have it in him to offer Her more, he would try later but now that was all he had in him as offering. 

He disinfected and wrapped the wounds.

It was harder than he imagined getting dressed, sheathing the blade once more and securely putting it in his inner pocket on his robe, tightening the sash in front tight so it wouldn’t slip out or be noticed. He snapped his fingers and the mess disappeared; he prayed his miracle was strong enough to keep it gone. He didn’t know how he would explain that to Crowley. He wouldn’t understand as he didn’t understand why Gabriel had to do what he did.

It had to be part of ineffable plan he found this knife, to bleed himself for forgiveness. Once he was forgiven, it would stop. He was sure it would. 

Crowley was sitting on the bed when he came out of the shower, he looked livid and jittery. Almost scared. Without his sunglasses he always looked so vulnerable. He turned his head to Aziraphale and forced himself to smile though. 

“Have a nice shower?”

“It was very relaxing,” Aziraphale smiled to him sitting on the bed feeling faint and tired once more, “But a little exhausting.” 

Crowley forced that smile pressing a kiss on Aziraphale’s forehead as he walked to his side of the bed and gently tucked him back into bed.

“Its too early to be up, just rest a little longer.” 

Aziraphale grabbed his hand, feeling lighter than he had in ages, it was almost freeing to be the one to choose how he was forgiven. He pressed a kiss to Crowley’s knuckles.

“Stay?”

“Sorry dove, I can’t,” he whispered, “Something very important came up.”

Aziraphale refused to let go of his demon’s hand staring at him, silently begging him what that meant exactly. Crowley sighed sitting down on the edge of the bed, running his fingers through Aziraphale’s hair.

“Hastur told me ya were asking about a demonic weapon,” he admitted and Aziraphale felt himself stiffen staring at Crowley with wide eyes.

“Y-yes,” Aziraphale stuttered clinging to Crowley’s hand and hoping he was as good of a liar he could lie to a demon, “I found a blade in Shadwell’s possession. I gave it to Gabriel and he just asked me to find the source and I found no leads.”

Crowley clung tighter to Aziraphale’s hand and his face was turning pale as he did as originally asked and lied next to Aziraphale, climbing over him awkwardly to do so, his foot brushed against a self-inflicted wound and it took everything for Aziraphale not to wince. Gently pulling Aziraphale into his arms, letting him rest his weary head on his chest.

“Shadwell? Not just something turned into yer shop?”

There was fear in his voice and Aziraphale found himself snuggling closecloser to the demon.

“He didn’t harm me,” he promised, “I don’t think he knew what it was. I found it in his apartment. I was afraid he would harm himself, so I took it.”

That did little to asway Crowley and he just pulled Aziraphale close to him.

“I don’t think he was going to hurt me, if that’s what you are afraid of,” Aziraphale mumbled, “It’s ok now. It will all be over very soon, I’m sure.”

Crowley just grunted to that, not convinced.

“I haven’t seen Gabriel in almost two months,” he promised Crowley feeling himself beginning to fall asleep, it was coming natural now and feeling as light and free as he was now it just felt naturalright, “I think I’m almost forgiven and it will be back to normal soon.” 

He felt pleased with himself knowing he had found the key to forgiveness, bleeding himself, it had to be him who showed her, not well-meaning others.

Crowley however felt nothing short of stock fear that he would have to go against Aziraphale’s promise to get rid of his abuser. He knew in his heart he wouldn’t just stop hurting Aziraphale. He would have to kill Gabriel himself and hope Aziraphale forgave him.


	21. Madame Tracy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright so I am leaving for a road trip early Sunday morning and won't be back till next Sunday, so this will be the final time I update this week but I hope I made up for it. Thank you all for reading!

It was the early twilight hours; Crowley was fast asleep still in bed. Aziraphale felt restless, he tightened his robe and slipped on his favorite pink bunny slippers kissing Crowley’s forehead gently as he slipped out. He smiled at Crowley’s snarl and swish of the hand at the touch, turning to the other side of the bed, snoring softly.

He pulled the curtains of the canopy bed to keep the morning light out and slipped from the bedroom.

A pack of cigarettes were half falling from Crowley’s robe hung up on the bathroom door and Aziraphale smiled towards Crowley’s sleeping form, figuring he wouldn’t miss one. Surely he wouldn’t. He knew he would be cross with him stealing the lighter (the one he stole from the Queen? That couldn’t be right, her majesty’s name wasn’t Freddy) but he took it anyway. He felt more playful today then he had in other a hundred years.

Something about the sting of each movement just sent a shiver of euphoria through him, he felt in control. 

Crowley meant well, truly he did, but he didn’t like how he tried to contain him. He didn’t want him leaving the apartment, he didn’t want him going back to the shop, he wanted to close him in beside him it felt. It made him feel trapped.

Aziraphale locked the door as he stepped out of Crowley’s apartment, he just needed a moment alone. He needed to feel like things were before he landed on thin ice. When Oscar Wilde was alive and the arrangement worked before that dreadful fight with Crowley.

He sometimes wondered if he would have just given him holy water, would he have had to endear this? It started because he was in the damned club, the gentleman’s club every blasted night trying to get rid of his loneliness and how he missed Crowley. 

He felt a pang of irony as he sat at the bus stop outside the apartment building, lighting up his cigarette and taking in the sun rise. He had been angry Crowley might consider suicide, he was mad Crowley would consider harming himself back then, oh how the tables have turned as the Americans like to say.

Aziraphale closed his eyes and tried to sense love in Crowley’s neighborhood and unlike his own, it wasn’t as easy to find. That was the downside of cities, there wasn’t always that sense of love here, but he could never complain about the highs. The shops, the culture, the theater, oh the books he could find, and the food, the blessed surplus amount of scrumptious food. It was very unlikely you would find those comforts out in the countryside even if you would find more love and community.

Aziraphale thought on that a moment, letting out a long puff of smoke, had he ever considered that was why he needed to be punished? He thought more like a human or Heaven forbid, a demon, then an angel. 

Bleeding himself gave him more control and a better sense of himself with the brief euphoria of it all but it wasn’t long lived. That sinking feeling was back, he really wasn’t much of an angel and feeling good even briefly brought back exactly why he wasn’t a good angel.

“Now isn’t this a sight for sore eyes!”

He was forced from his self-deprecating thoughts by the booming voice of the young woman who lived with Shadwell. He thought a moment as he glanced back towards her exiting the apartment building and still couldn’t quite remember her name. He was always so good at remembering names too, it was usually Crowley who forgot.

“Mr. Fell! What on Earth are you doing so far from Soho?”

He smiled politely to her about to put his cigarette out to be polite but she just took it from his hands and took a puff. He gave her an odd look but said nothing, he supposed it was better then wasting.

“I am staying with my friend,” he said turning his head back towards the building and she nodded along, streams of smoke trailing with the action.

“Ah that is a good friend indeed Mr. Fell, ta take care of a fine man like yerself while yer down,” she nodded towards his baggy clothing silently commenting on how outwardly ill he was appearing these days, “I was visiting a friend as well before I went down to Soho to check Shadwell out of the hospital.”

Aziraphale ignored the friend comment, but her lacey gown that was more suitable for undergarments then something you wear to visit ‘a friend’ it was clear it was for business, a pleasurable business call. He opened his mouth to ask what was wrong with Shadwell, guilt traveling through him. 

“Got into a bit of a fight,” she sighed shaking her head, “Nothing to worry yer pretty head about, Mr. Fell. He’s fine, that employer of ‘is weren’t too happy last night. They got into fisty cups over a dagger or something of the sort and it ended with Mr. Shadwell tumbling unluckily down the stairs. Miracle it was just a sprained wrist and light concussion, doctors were just worried about ‘is anger and talk of demons, thought it might be a swelled head or some such nonsense, I told ‘em that’s how he always is but they wanted to check just in case.”

She shook her head and chuckled taking the last drag of the cigarette before stomping it under her stiletto. Aziraphale took this all-in silence and worry.

“He’s fine, really, love,” she said placing a reassuring hand on Aziraphale’s shoulder, “But how about you love? You look ill. That friend of yers taking good care of ya?”

“He is an angel,” Aziraphale smiled to the woman and she brightened, he must be glowing a little just thinking of Crowley, “I should be fine soon. I just need to find my way through the darkness.”

She nodded patting his shoulder soothingly.

“Keep up the good fight as they say,” she paused glancing towards a cab pulling up to the curb she must have called, “If you ever need help finding yer way through the dark, remember I’ll always here love.”

She reached down her dress, where her bra was making Aziraphale turn his head away flushing brightly and slapped a card in his lap before getting in a cab, wishing him farewell.

He glanced down at the card, there was a single large eye staring at him from the front, surrounded by an open palm. He flipped the card over and read: Madame Tracy, psychic medium. It listed her address and her number (both things he already knew); he slipped the card in the pocket of his robe.

;

“Aziraphale!”

He turned his head to Crowley running out of the building, in a state of panic finding him gone. He was disheveled, hair wild, shirt left in the apartment and nothing on but plaid pajama bottoms, feet bare, the only thing he properly remembered before running out were his glasses. Aziraphale chuckled softly walking over to the demon and pushing his sunglasses up properly as the morning crowd began gathering at the bus stop and the streets became alive with people heading to work.

Crowley looked far from amused, pulling the angel close to him and sneering at a judgmental look from a woman dragging along her screaming toddler and glaring towards Aziraphale’s bunny slippers and Crowley’s bare feet and chest. Aziraphale gave the demon a warning look about cursing a woman already having a bad morning and just greeted her kindly stepping back into the building with Crowley and allowing him to drag him back upstairs.

“I thought you left!” Crowley ground out, teeth grinding so hard Aziraphale was certain sparks would fly from them, “Anything could have happened!”

“Nothing would have happened,” Aziraphale said firmly stepping into the kitchen to start breakfast, “Honestly Crowley, I am getting better.”

“You vomited and you passed out within a twenty-four-hour period and you wouldn’t wake up all day yesterday,” Crowley snarled in frustration collapsing on a chair behind the counter as Aziraphale began cracking eggs for a proper meal for the two.

“I just stepped out for a smoke.”

“You could have smoked in here!”

Aziraphale gave him a look, the demon’s tongue was forking and slithering out in his worried state, getting caught in his mustache that needed a trim. Hissing angrily towards Aziraphale dicing onions and peppers for their eggs.

“That isn’t the proper thing to do,” he said stubbornly preparing their over omelets to be cooked, “It leaves stains on the walls, a smell that won’t leave, you aren’t trying to scare customers like I am, so its best I do it outside.”

“You could have woke me up…”

He was still grousing, frustration burning out as Aziraphale sat his breakfast and coffee in front of him, placing a gentle kiss on his temple.

“I’m not made of glass Crowley, no one out there is willingly trying to harm me.”

Crowley stuffed the food in his mouth to keep the arguments away and glared at Aziraphale as he sat next to him with his own plate and demanded he eat. Aziraphale did so gladly, he felt love here with Crowley. That should be enough to get him through the day.


	22. Ups and Downs

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guess who's back with another update.

The funny thing about bleeding himself, he knew it would upset someone he dearly loved, he knew Gabriel could possibly take offense to this sullying his own corporation in such a way. Yet, he didn’t worry about it. It was freeing and made him feel brave, it made him feel bold. It was a secret, whether good or bad, it was his and his alone.

It was between him and his mother who he prayed to. Only she could hear this secret. The act may turn out not to be Holy at all, for all he truly knew it could be improper behavior, but it made him feel saintly. It made him feel intensely devoted. It made the grime roll from his blood, from his very essence, down his corporation and purify with the water.

He had never smiled so brightly then when his blood streamed from thigh and soaked the blade a moment before the water washed it away, his prayers washed it away.

He never attempted to heal these, and he never let Crowley see, he would bleed until he heard her speak onto him once more. He would let the blood flow until he broke past the Mettaton and his mother heard his cries. He wanted to be forgiven, he wanted her guidance, he wanted Gabriel to stop. He didn’t want to force Gabriel to act this way anymore. He didn’t want Crowley worry anymore about him.

His head snapped up at the gentle wrapping on the bathroom door.

“Angel? Are you about bloody done?”

He snapped the water off quickly and felt the rush of dizziness as he forced himself up from the shower floor.

“Crowley,” he snapped to the door, a playful tone destroying any of his mock frustration, “Learn some patience, dear boy.”

“You’ve been in there an hour,” there was a hiss at the edge of his words, Aziraphale could see his tongue slithering out and taking its snake like form, “You arrre the one who wanted to go out today and I’m notttt waiting all millennium for you to get readyyy.”

“Just a moment,” he chastised cleaning his wounds and tightening bandages around them before willing his blood from the shower and pristine grey tile, it shimmered and shined once more spotless, the carnage was never there.

He slipped his favorite suit on and almost glowed realizing it wasn’t sagging as badly as before. He took in his reflection and almost burst with joy seeing he had willed enough weight on his corporal form to just be average skinny and not look so emaciated. His cheeks had slight color to them and weren’t as ashen as they were before.

He slid the dagger into one of his hidden pockets he had willed inside his wind breaker, buttoning the dagger securely into it. It was far from prying eyes and would remain a secret between him and the almighty. He whispered a prayer of thanks for his mother to give him enough courage and strength to feel strong enough to take control of his form again and strong enough for miracles to hold without instantly vanishing.

Nothing was coincidence, there was always a reason for everything, he came across the dagger for this and it felt right. Everything would be fine. More then fine, it felt absolutely tickity boo.

;

It was funny how things shifted. The day before he had a lovely afternoon with Crowley, they fed the ducks just like old times and Crowley had ordered in sushi for them to eat while curled on the couch. Aziraphale consumed by his copy of ‘The Great Gatsby’ and Crowley watching a game show Aziraphale barely understood the rules for. Crowley must have, he was hissing and damning the contestants for not doing what he considered basic and common-sense things.

Today, the TV was off and the stack of books in front of Aziraphale went untouched. Crowley was cursing in the kitchen; he had never been a fan of cooking but Aziraphale just hadn’t felt up to moving today. He just laid there, staring at his stack of books and pressing down on his thigh praying for that tinge of euphoria that had been coming from the wounds.

He was thinking about Gabriel, he was wondering if he was right about anything, he was silently praying and feeling a pain that stretched with the silence. He didn’t know if Gabriel was wondering where he was, he didn’t know if God heard him, he remembered the stack of paperwork that needed to be filed.

Crowley gently pushed the books off the coffee table and set a cup of tea in front of him.

“Ya’ve been so happy the last few days, what’s got you so down?”

Aziraphale just stared at the steam flowing from the cup, he bit his lip, he just recalled the stack of dishes he had left for Crowley yesterday and was feeling a strange guilt. He blinked, he couldn’t answer Crowley’s question, he couldn’t even comprehend it today.

It had all felt so right and now it was beginning to feel wrong and he felt too weak to bleed himself. He risked collapsing, he risked being discorporated if he went too far in his state. He gnawed his lip a moment and wondered if there was a cost to bleeding his essence as he had been doing, as Sandalphon liked to. He had never thought of it before, he was too wrapped up in the idea of falling, the idea of becoming a demon and possibly losing the ability to love. Losing his mother’s love, he always felt it pulsing for him, pulsing deep inside of him.

He hadn’t meant to wince as he did when Crowley’s cool hand felt his forehead, but Crowley yanked away just as quickly. Both staring wide eyed at the other, both feeling guilt and worry. The apology was left unsaid between them, lost somewhere in the thick layer of both of their stubbornness. 

“I wish she would speak to me,” he finally admitted, his voice just a low whistle on the wind. He wasn’t alone, he wasn’t unloved, these were things he knew without a doubt. He felt love from Crowley, he loved him even though it was wrong. It wasn’t angelic love though; it wasn’t love that would give him peace. It wasn’t love from his mother, the one who created everything and loved everything deeply.

That feeling crept up again, a half-forgotten memory that cut deep and felt fresh once more. Could She love Her mistakes? The angel who loved the wrong things, who loved sinful things and rarely batted an eye to what truly mattered. What Heaven deemed important. He pressed harder on his thigh, shifted uncomfortably while Crowley was too distracted to notice. He clawed at healing wounds while Crowley ruminated on his previous statement.

Crowley didn’t ask who, he could be dense sometimes, but no one was that dense to not know who the She was an angel wished to contact.

“She ain’t worth it, angel.” 

He said Her name like a dirty word, something that shouldn’t be said in polite company. There was bitterness and hate there and blame. He blamed Her, possibly for his own suffering, possibly for Aziraphale’s. Maybe both. The sulfur and brimstone burned just bellow his skin at her mention, Aziraphale wanted to move feeling the heat radiating but just couldn’t find the energy to care if he was burned. He almost wanted to be burned, to feel something other then shame and uncertainty.

He pulled out a cigarette and used the tip of his finger to light it, exhaling smoke, thick black clouds surrounding them. Bottling up anger wasn’t a simple task for Crowley or any demon Aziraphale was sure, he appreciated the control he had and wished he could learn his secret.

“She is worth more then every ounce of blood in my essence,” Aziraphale stated, fingers rubbing against the deep cuts just under his thick flannel pajama bottoms, feeling an ounce of relief as the wound reopened. He would give her every ounce of his essence just to hear Her. Just for her to tell him what next.

“Is that what those scars were for?” Crowley snarled after a moment the cigarette deteriorating quickly into ash and the burned bud fell into the ash tray, still smoking, “Is that what he’s been telling you? You have to bleed for Her??” 

Aziraphale hated he brought it up, stared gape up at Crowley, he felt like he was caught. He felt even more guilty knowing he had involuntarily told a demon, the opposition, something only between he and other angels who loved him.

The smoke was getting thicker, it wasn’t from the cigarette, it was clouding the room up, making it harder for Aziraphale to think, he felt dizzy and he felt ashamed he preferred this. He was breathing in the fumes of Hell and Crowley was likely to explode soon bringing up the Hellfire.

Crowley snarled getting up and marching from the room, taking the dangerous chemicals that could very well kill Aziraphale with him, slamming the bedroom door.

The room cleared and Aziraphale felt too weak to move, too tired to call out to Crowley and too afraid to admit he wasn’t afraid of Crowley’s Hellfire, wasn’t afraid to die an angel and in Her light.

He laid he head back down and just collapsed, not really asleep, not really awake, somewhere deep in his own mind. Alive still but barely feeling it.


	23. Challenging God

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The chapter Crowley finds out he can't fight God.

Crowley slammed the bedroom door shut and let the smoke follow him in.

“Calm down,” he snarled to himself taking deep breaths gripping the side of the bed and breathing deeply.

“It’s not his bloody fault,” he breathed in and the rest of the black smog went back inside where it belonged, back in his essence forever charred and burned by the fall, “It’s that fucker…Gabriel…he fucked his back up and put those ideas in his head..”

He dug into his bedside drawer, grumbling and hissing the entire time. He tossed aside the clothes Aziraphale had folded with care in the nightstand, his undergarments he felt were so improper for him to see. Crowley rolled his eyes at that, large boxers and dreadfully prudish early twentieth century attire. The only thing outlandish about them was how he managed to get a few pairs in tartan and how the dreadful things didn’t fall apart after a hundred years wear.

Oh, if the angel found out Crowley didn’t even wear undergarments now that would just be the scandal of the century.

He yanked the bottom from the drawer, all demons had little secret compartments for their little secrets. No demon could be trusted, and every demon was encouraged to have something up their sleeve.

His biggest secret was hidden behind his original Mona Lisa print he had stolen before the Nazis could get their hands on it in 1942, his best weapon against the forces of hell should they find out about his angel. 

The bottom drawer held something a little different, something he didn’t want. The apple that would allow him to speak to Her. A poor sense of humor that one, giving the serpent of Eden access to forbidden knowledge. Access to something even angels couldn’t. Really funny, listen to his war cry but not Her loyal son’s cries for help.

He chomped into the apple and felt his eyes roll to the back of his head, just his luck he missed the bed as he fell into a slumber, crashing on the floor. His last thoughts were of that Disney movie, the one Aziraphale refused to see with him, watching the apple bounce from his hand and roll to the shag rug in the middle of the floor.

;

His eyes fluttered open, there was an ache in his head from hitting the ground the way it did. He propped up on his elbows and found himself in Aziraphale’s book shop. He heard a low and angelic voice singing, he couldn’t understand the words, he had forgotten how to speak the ancient tongue when he fell. He had heard Aziraphale singing that Hymn quietly sitting in his chair, sewing a rip or tear in his favorite clothing.

Aziraphale was beautiful as ever, foot tapping on the floor, humming another melody now, just a little louder, undoing and tossing aside his 1800s neck wear and rolling up his sleeves. This one Crowley knew, old and classy, just like Aziraphale. He had his little glasses hanging from his nose as he knit what looked like a new scarf in his signature tartan pattern. Wool dyed with a touch of magic to get it that perfect color and pattern.

He looked up at him, a cocky smile on his face, cheeks chubby as ever and he just glowed in a way he hadn’t seen in a long time. Crowley took a seat next to him by the fireplace, his armchair was waiting for him there, just as cozy as ever, not tainted like it was now.

“Are you ready to be civil?”

Crowley scowled leaning back in his chair, he had almost forgotten who he was talking to. Not Aziraphale, he was only slightly a bastard, just enough of one to keep things interesting, this bitch was the biggest bastard in the entire galaxy. Dwindling lives on her fingers and not caring enough if things went wrong when those strings she dangled precariously snapped.

“I want answers and I’m not playing yer damn game.”

“I don’t play games you win anyway,” Aziraphale said with a little wink and chortle, puffing out his cheek in that way that made Crowley weak in the knees. He was cute and Crowley hated himself for thinking such a thing.

“I haven’t looked in on Aziraphale in over a hundred years,” he said with a little laugh, “But he had been quite fond of this pattern when I did. He was so proud of himself figuring out knitting shears and getting his wool to turn just the right color. I distinctly remember him praying to me, thanking me for allowing him to experience it.”

Holding your temper in for a mortal being was an act of patience many didn’t have the time or need to perfect. For a demon however, holding your temper in was like trying to will the petrol you just dumped on your campfire not to explode and take the entire national park with it.

Aziraphale, no not Aziraphale, NA, that’s what Crowley would refer to the bitch as, was casual as ever humming once more and going back to their knitting. NA raised an eyebrow to the smoke and nodded to it, expected it, putting the finishing touches to her scarf. She waited a moment, watching the smoke gather around the shop to a worrying degree, watched flames gather around books but not combust and wither to nothing as they should. 

Wordlessly, NA draped the finished tartan scarf around Crowley and he instantly found peace. He heard Aziraphale laughing in his mind, saw his pout when he didn’t get his way, he felt chubby fingers curling against his spindly ones and all felt right. The scarf tightened itself and the flames washed away, a tenderness touching deep within him wrapping around him like Aziraphale at night when he laid his head upon his chest and tightened himself around him for protection.

“Be civil,” NA warned firmly, a swish of the hand and a cup of Jasmine tea appeared on the inn table beside Her. It was chipped and a century behind, a very grandmother type china set. Crowley didn’t recall Aziraphale owning this set, but it wouldn’t surprise if he had once owned it. The flowers decoratively lacing the cup and styled dead center of the little plate were lilacs. 

“Would you like a cup?”

“Coffee and make it black,” he hissed towards Her, running fingers over the scarf and taking in Aziraphale’s scent.

“Bit cliché but alright.”

NA blew him a kiss playfully, in that way he always dreamed of Aziraphale doing for him, and he found a plain white coffee cup nestled in his hands, soothing and warm. Glaring towards Her, he took a sip, he despised it was the best cup he had ever drank.

“Do you still carry a heavy bitterness about the whole fall thing?” 

Crowley gave her a very dumbfounded look, what the bloody hell did she think? It was the most ludicrous thing to ask someone, to wonder if the most traumatic and scarring part of his existence was something, he was still ‘bitter’ about. This, this is where all the angels got their finesse. This is exactly why Aziraphale thought it was small talk to ask him if he was still a demon, he got it from his horrid mother. 

“I mean I would have thought you would have dropped it a little after I allowed you to court my favored son, it was a bit of a hasty decision on my part dropping you all for getting into Lucifer and I’s little spat but hey, good can’t exist without evil and all that.”

Crowley could not believe this bitch; she was so casual about this entire ordeal. Shrugging and smiling and sipping Her tea, no different then he and the real Aziraphale discussing mortal lives and interests. Like they had just come back from a Shakespeare production and they were comparing their favorite shows. 

“Don’t think I don’t know what your intentions were with him,” NA chuckled taking another sip, “Those wide eyes when you met him and don’t think I didn’t see that bath house kiss in Rome. Aziraphale was created to heal, help his siblings heal, help humanity heal and unintentionally I saw he helped you heal. I backed off him and allowed him to do what he designed to do, heal. If this is about thinking Heaven will kill him about your little affair, one word from me and they won’t.”

“Is that all he is to you and all of Heaven?” Crowley finally hissed, “A bloody bandage to put over your own fuck ups? A tool to use and do as you like with to make you feel better??!”

NA glared towards him, offended, acting as if Crowley just wasn’t smart enough to understand the honor she was giving him to use her ‘favored son’ as he saw fit. To use Aziraphale, to maybe even abuse him if he saw fit. Aziraphale the tool for healing, to be used as you saw fit as a ‘sorry about that whole falling business’ gift. 

She didn’t give a damn he cried, did she?? She didn’t give a damn his sibling used him to ‘heal’ his own disgusting lust and depravity and slap a layer of holy paint over the acts. Crowley had felt anger before but he no, he felt murderous now.

He launched himself at Her, latching slender fingers around a beautiful, pale and thick throat, he tightened his hold watching Aziraphale turn a ghastly shade of purple and became more enraged.

“You don’t have the fucking right to wear his face, you don’t have the fucking right, you change now and do us all a fucking favor bitch and die with some dignity.”

It was like a blink, half a second of darkness, maybe shorter. One moment he was in the familiar setting of the book shop, watching the flames gather and strangling the dearest creation in this entire wide galaxy screaming at Her to change fucking shape. The next, he was nowhere, surrounded by pitch darkness, no longer on solid ground. He was falling, falling again, falling through the vortex, everything dark before the tsunami of flames tore through the darkness. 

“You can’t win this game,” a voice tore through the darkness as he fell.

Crowley screamed in agony as his wings were forced out, they had already burned, they couldn’t get any darker than they already were, but he felt it. He felt the searing agony once more. He smelled the smoke and char of burned and flaking feathers.

Crowley, what’s wrong? Please darling… please darling…wake up…

He heard a faint memory of comfort but the agony of burning, of falling, of being stripped of light once more silenced his angel. 

He felt himself crashing into memories, bad and good, like falling through glass and getting torn to shreds in the process while She just went through his soul. Tore open every door in his heart without much regard of his wellbeing, watching every memory with strange fascination. Her own personal show, Crowley being nothing more then a tool.

Waking in darkness those first days, the fear and confusion of what would come next. Newly formed demons desperate and angry and in pain. Taking their anger out on one another. Crowley felt claws strike him and he felt his fangs digging into his opponent, drawing blood that filled his mouth.

Lucifer putting a stop to senseless violence after watching with amusement years in the silence, taking in the carnage, letting everyone fester on anger, pain and darkness.

He found himself slithering through Eden, Aziraphale was holding a bird, a beautiful and colorful bird that had captured his attention. Innocence sparkling in his eyes as he ran his fingers across feathers and whispered against its feathers he wished his were as lovely.

A month before the spat over holy water, Crowley caught sight of Aziraphale glowing, beautiful as ever. A jealousy burning through him, lighting his fingertips up, burning holes in his white gloves as Oscar Wilde held his angel’s waste while no one was looking and used his sweet nothings to earn a blush from the angel.

Memory after memory burning and sending shots of agony through him as Her holy light travelled through him, searching and watching. 

They stopped at Gabriel forcing himself slowly into Aziraphale, Aziraphale’s terror that haunted Crowley’s nightmares more then even falling would. The slow painful thrust from Gabriel and the low pained moans from Aziraphale.

“Aziraphale,” he said firmly, “Tell me no. Fight back.”

“You wouldn’t, because you are a good, you are a loyal and good soldier who knows this is best.”

Crowley felt a secondhand disgust, it seemed even She didn’t know everything. She saw herself out from Crowley’s mind after that without an apology or thanks. She left nothing but the disgust Crowley already felt.

And a new searing pain only She could gift someone.

;

It had been over a thousand years since Crowley woke like this, it felt exactly like that day in 1690 when he and Aziraphale got into a tiny spat about what was and wasn’t proper for the arrangement and he had drank a high quality of alcohol for a month straight. He woke just like this, mouth feeling stuffed with cotton, head pounding, freezing and feeling queasy. Hung over and ready for death.

He shifted his head to the side and tried to focus on the fact he was gone. His Aziraphale was gone. He touched his spot with shaking fingers, cold and bare, he hadn’t been here.

“Nice to see ya back in the world of the living, Mr. Crowley.”

He gave a weak scowl to the woman in the doorway, he knew her, he knew he did but he couldn’t recall from where. 

“Aziraphale was beside himself with worry, made himself quite sick,” she tutted setting a steaming cup of tea on his nightstand, vile rose to his throat, it was Jasmine tea. He swallowed down his vomit and turned away from the woman.

His eyes shot open instantly after a moment as his brain finally processed her words.

“What the hell did you call him?”

“Aziraphale,” she said firmly sitting of the edge of his bed, folding her legs giving Crowley a nice view of her lovely legs clad in pink lacey stockings. Did Aziraphale invite a prostitute into his home?

“That’s ‘is name, he’s an angel and yer a demon, he told us while ya were out.”

He watched her fiddle with a little pink lighter, the flame was weak, but it lit up her cigarette just fine. He held out his hand, forcing himself up on shaky limbs, silently demanding one. She passed him the lit one after taking a drag and he greedily sucked in the smoke, dwindling the stick down to nothing with one long inhale, ash scattering around him.

“Why the ‘ell would he tell you anything,” he grunted out flicking the bud across the room.

“It’s a bit of a long story,” she sighed out lighting another cigarette, “Its been a year since you been under and I think he was tired of worrying himself dry.”

Crowley shot up, Aziraphale’s absence hit him hard, the worry flowing through him. That fucking bitch kept him under a fucking year and did more damage to her so called ‘favored son’. 

“He’s fine,” she said with a little nod, a tinge of worry on her face as well, “Shadwell’s with ‘im. Just stepped out a moment, said he had business he needed to attend to in ‘is shop.” 

Crowley tried to jump up but the woman was quick in shoving him back down.

“Just rest a moment dearie, let Madame Tracy take care of ya until yer Aziraphale returns.”


	24. Seeds of Doubt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> While Crowley fights god (and loses), Aziraphale talks with his sibling

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so as a quick note: I have no editor and its just me writing and trying my best to edit up my fics. I do plan on cleaning it up and making it prettier when I finish, so its fine to tell me if you notice mistakes. Anything to help me improve as a writer is always welcome.

Aziraphale had heard the loud thud in the bedroom but had been too exhausted to get up and investigate. Crowley would be fine, he was sure of it. He felt fatigued, he just couldn’t find himself able to move.

He rolled over and fell asleep.

In the next room, Crowley was attempting to murder God while he fell into a doze for a few days.

;

He had never dreamed before, he had always supposed it was possible, he did have a human vessel and there were always thoughts streaming nonstop in his subconscious. He had never really slept before though; he had always been strong enough to just miracle away any tiredness from the vessel. It also helped that he enjoyed food, it gave his body enough fuel to not have much of a need to lie his head down and sleep.

He dreamed of the garden. He hadn’t been here in so long and he almost forgot how beautiful it had been. He let his wings spread out, it was freeing to let them out like this, he let his fingers run through white feathers. His poor feathers were quite the sight in present, he never let them out and when he did free them, they were matted and wild and painful.

He felt full, his body healthy and plump, a glow to him he hadn’t had since…he couldn’t even think it. If he thought it, he would feel pain and the illusion of normality and things being fine would be broken.

“Aziraphale.”

He tilted his head behind him, taking his eyes from the apple tree he had been tasked to watch over and turned his head towards Uriel. Dressed in silken white robes as he was, their normal formal attire left with their corporation, wherever they had left it.

“Hello,” he said cautiously, wringing his hands nervously, it wasn’t common practice for angels to reach out to each other in this way. It was how they would normally speak onto humans.

“Why do you hide from us? Where have you gone?” they didn’t seem particularly concerned but they didn’t seem angry either. Aziraphale had always appreciated this from Uriel, they were always composed and never made him feel beneath them. They kept him at an emotional distance, but they were never cruel.

“Hiding?” he asked fidgeting and forcing a smile, “No! I’m not—”

Uriel silenced him with a raise of their hand and a shake of their head. 

“Gabriel is quite cross about you hiding from your appointments with him, hiding from your duty as an angel.”

Aziraphale couldn’t face his superior, he looked away, he had never felt frustration before with his fellow angels but felt a glimmer of it now. He wanted so badly to voice that frustration, to demand if that was his duty now, it wasn’t before. Gabriel was kind enough to help him but that was far from his duty.

“Your feelings aren’t what matter, Aziraphale,” they said with a small hint of remorse to their tone, “As an angel, your duty is what is just. What is best for Heaven, doing what needs to be done to keep sin from not only the humans but yourself as well.”

There was a pregnant pause between them, Aziraphale stared up to the apple tree, focusing on the original sin. A breeze fluttering feathers and knocking a few astray. He refused to face his sibling and they seemed to be intently focusing on him, he felt their stare.

“What have you done to yourself?”

The illusion Aziraphale had been building in his mind all these years began crashing down. The garden along with his calm peace of mind crumbled, sinking into the darkness.

There was a large rose gold puddle gathered around his feet, spilling down his back and thighs, a puddle of his very essence. He glanced towards his wings and noticed how sickly they turned, feathers falling out in clumps, gathering in the gore. It felt almost impossible to lift them, it was like they were broken and for the first time he noticed the lash marks on them. The half-healed lines, the bleeding wounds and the missing feathers, his wings were nearly bald only a few straggler feathers left. He felt his heart plummet, he had never considered the consequences of the lashings on his wings, he had always assumed if he kept them tucked in, they would be fine.

He ran a shaking hard other the tender flesh and pulled away instantly as the blood and molting feathers clung to his palm.

“Look what you force Gabriel to do,” they spat frozen where they stood, refusing to reach out to their sibling as if he was diseased.

“You are bleeding out and you don’t care!”

Aziraphale felt tears gathering in his eyes, Uriel had never shown him this much emotion, they had always been the calmest with him. He had always preferred their presence in the past but now he was afraid of what they would do. What he was forcing their hand to do.

“You are the reason for Gabriel’s suffering! The reprimands he will get for not taking care of the problem that is always Aziraphale!”

They didn’t strike him but they didn’t need to, he collapsed under the weight of the wounds and fear. Staring in horror at the state of his wings, he didn’t think, why didn’t he think bleeding his essence would have an effect on them??!

“I warned you and you didn’t heed that warning and you are crumbling.”

They seemed just as panicked as Aziraphale, taking in the carnage.

“What do I do?”

He begged his sibling, he just needed guidance from anyone at this point, he was lost in his own sea of sinful thoughts and desires and the darkness that surrounded him.

“We shall sort this out,” they mumbled.

If Aziraphale didn’t know any better, the panic in their voice and the way they paced reminded him of the way mortals acted when they tried to cover up their crimes. How he had once acted when he knew it was wrong of him to invite a demon for oysters and alcohol but had been stupid and bold enough to do it anyway.

“Behave yourself and allow me access into your dreams and within a year, you should be sorted enough to go back to your normal duties.”

Aziraphale frowned at them, glancing back, silently asking if he was forgiven enough for Gabriel to stop the other treatment.

They didn’t answer that, they just stared at him in disgust, Aziraphale had never sensed it so plainly before. Hatred. Uriel hated him and the mess he had made of himself, they hated they had to stop their busy work of looking after the cosmos and arranging the solar system just to deal with him. They acted as if the blame was all on his shoulders and he sensed it, he sensed the anger and worry.

He frowned the worry was not for him. He sensed fear and dread but just by the anger they kept throwing at him as they forcefully yanked his wings back and examined them, he knew it wasn’t for him. 

He cried out and begged for a gentle hand as they unmercifully yanked out the rest of the feathers and snarled at the wounds. Muttering to themself how this was not going to be an easy repair, the essence and damage to his soul was bad.

He had never questioned before, he had never been allowed to but the way his sibling acted made him mortified to even consider Crowley was right, consider Crowley and his accusation of Gabriel being in the wrong were right.


	25. Time

Aziraphale had woken in cold sweat, he glanced around desperate for Crowley but found him no where in sight. He was almost relieved to not see the demon; he needed a moment alone. A moment to breath and think for himself.

Shaking, he rose from the couch, instantly he felt himself stagger and collapse once more, but bracing himself, he forced himself to rise.

He pulled off his thick sweater, it was hand woven by a lovely woman who was no longer part of this world, he wasn’t about to ruin it summoning his wings to the physical plane. He just needed to see, see their state. What had become of them?

He knew it wasn’t a dream, he knew he had been in the in-between plane, between life and death, the place mortals spoke to celestials. He had never truly heard of a case of celestials contacting each other in that plane. They had much simpler forms of communication then that but unless Aziraphale made his presence known it wasn’t that easy to simply send him a summons. 

He chewed on these thoughts, kneeling onto the shag carpet, he had always hated Crowley’s choice. In keeping up with the times, he had truly lost any semblance of pride, the carpet was scratchy and a putrid shade of red, almost orange. Crowley got it from a fashion magazine and willed it into his living room along with some other questionable things.

The disco ball and lava lamps were accessories he made after Aziraphale had told him his house felt empty, he then quickly added items to make his ‘swinging bachelor pad’ more American just to ruffle his angel’s feathers.

He took a deep breath and concentrated, if he had any feathers left that was.

In the end, he couldn’t do it. He was afraid of what he might find bringing his wings out to the physical plane, he hadn’t done that since 1690. The last he had even dared bring them forth was in a moment of weakness and intoxication, when Crowley demanded he bring them out after he admitted he hadn’t groomed them since Arthur’s court or maybe even Rome, he wasn’t sure.

He sat on the ground staring at the cold cup of tea Crowley had left for him and pulled his sweater back on. He glanced around and felt Crowley here, he hadn’t left, but he wasn’t fussing over him .

He shook the thought away, assumed he was just asleep and got back on the couch, picking up the cold tea, not caring how wrong it tasted, he just drank it.

;

Aziraphale had his head pressed to the bedroom door, he knew Crowley was in there, but he was afraid to barge in on him. He was afraid of him becoming angry with him for bothering him while he calmed down from his previous outburst.

Above all else, he was afraid to ask for his second opinion on seeing his wings, the new concern was gnawing at him. Griping tightly around him like a vice, the fact he may never fly again.

Instead, he moved towards the kitchen. He made a cup of coffee for Crowley and sat at the counter and took a slow drink of his tea. He sat at the counter, watching the clock tick, mesmerized by each ticking second, he had never felt their weight before. Never felt time bearing down on him, it had always meant nothing, there was always time for an immortal, but it felt like those trickling seconds pooling into minutes and flooding into hours, drowned him.

Is this how mortals felt?

Was this what his former king had felt on his death bed, rambling and raving and blaming his death on Aziraphale’s blunders and his wife’s treason. Was this what his dear Oskar had felt, spending his last minutes accepting his fate and complaining of the drapes. Did mortals drown in time? Did they feel this dread that they were slowly running out of it?

It had been morning when he had begun drinking his tea and it was nightfall when he finally shook away his claustrophobic panicked thoughts. He glanced at Crowley’s coffee, untouched and cold as his own tea.

He sighed, it wasn’t unusual for intense anger or stress to make the demon fall asleep for long periods of time, Aziraphale felt guilt that it was him who had done this to Crowley. He regretted coming to him at all.

;

Aziraphale didn’t even like TV and had never spent time in front of the box unless Crowley was with him. Crowley wasn’t though, not really. He was still locked in the bedroom and Aziraphale was afraid to see what he was doing in there. He felt anger, he knew that, it was strong, he felt it each time he pressed his head against the door.

He soon became well acquainted with the BBC and its line up. News in the morning, game shows in the midafternoon, the Doctor Who reruns at five, the evening news, some sort of variety of comedies he didn’t understand and ending with static from midnight to five am.

He found himself liking the white noise of constant droning from the box, he never paid it half a mind, but it was less consuming then reading and it took his mind from the matters of Heaven and why Crowley was hiding from him. He didn’t have to think of Uriel yanking out his feathers and his fear of what would happen if he summoned his wings now. He didn’t have to ponder why Gabriel was telling their siblings his new duty was what he once was told was punishment. He didn’t have to think about Crowley’s anger. He didn’t need to worry about the pain and the itch to tear into his flesh once more.

It was just he and Martin Bell right now, reporting from Washington DC about a trade deal. It wasn’t close to exciting and Aziraphale who had previously been annoyed by the modern ideas of humor, longed for Monty Python. He would prefer the BBC’s subpar Shakespeare performances to this. He would prefer spending another day in Lord Alfred Douglas’s company and that man was unbearable the way he always tried stealing his Wilde collection.

He let himself fall from the couch, his tea from three days earlier sitting untouched in front of him.

He couldn’t live like this a moment longer, he needed to talk to Crowley. 

;

1333 was a rough year for Aziraphale, not as rough as the past hundred years had become and it almost seemed foolish he ever thought to complain about it at all.

Pestilence was at his height and Death didn’t get a break in Europe. Aziraphale couldn’t so much as turn a corner without finding someone who had succumb to the plague. There was no beauty in the 14th century, there was no fine wine or fine food to be found on the streets, no plays or art to consume, it was bleak and it was drab.

Aziraphale had found not even demons enjoyed it, well it was possible some did, Aziraphale saw a lot of the likes of Hastur and Ligur that century but he had seen Crowley becoming run down.

He walked as mechanically as Aziraphale did now, he was drawn as thin and tired as Aziraphale from the mental strain of dealing with such a colorless time. Souls were easy picking; everyone was desperate and would give anything to avoid Pestilence’s reach. That wasn’t how Crowley liked things, he liked a challenge, he liked to co-exist and let the mortals do things to themselves.

“I think I’ll lie my head down and just sleep through it all,” he had told Aziraphale as they sat side by side, up on their little hill watching the cart deposit another load of bodies to be burned.

Aziraphale had tried his hand at making wine and it didn’t turn out strong enough for either of their likings. It was hard to ignore such depression and boredom that just gnawed at your soul when sober.

Aziraphale said nothing to that, watching the pyre being lit and the retched smell of corpses making him chug his bottle down. He didn’t want to be alone, but he didn’t want Crowley to continue like this either, hollow and empty and suffering nothing to take his mind from the aches he hid deep down.

“I’ll watch over you if you like,” he offered, and Crowley patted him thankfully on the back. He took his offer and Aziraphale hid him away in his hovel for over a hundred years and let him rest. It filled him with a deep shame to know he had left thirty years before Crowley woke.

Aziraphale hadn’t thought of the plague or the sleep or the depression or his guilt in so long. It was all he could think of as he kept his head on the bedroom door, feeling Crowley’s misery and pain just beyond the door. He felt tears in his eyes, how could he be so selfish? Only thinking of himself when Crowley was in pain too, he had been since the beginning.

Crowley sacrificed so much for him, but he always just cowered away from Crowley’s pain. He felt intense guilt and almost ran away again. He nearly left, left Crowley to sort himself out and hide in his shop to lick his wounds behind closed doors alone.

“Crowley,” he called knocking on the door, “May I come in?”

He didn’t expect a response, but it still made him pause. Standing there letting the seconds trickle and minutes pool around him and hours drown him.

He finally opened the door and felt a new kind of fear submerge him taking in his demon on the floor, collapsed and barely moving. Aziraphale instantly felt himself dropping beside him and shaking his shoulders, a cold chill travelling down his spine freezing him up, making even crying an impossible feat now.

He found himself collapsing beside Crowley, placing his cold hands on his colder face and silently begging for him to get up. Transferring all those silent pleas deep into his soul, crying out for him to come back but he wasn’t strong enough to wake him.

;

He stayed on the floor with Crowley for days. He stayed there, right next to him as the dawn broke through the curtains and as the room set into darkness. He stayed with him, caressing his cheeks and sending his silent pleas to him until he couldn’t anymore, until he grew weak and found himself blacking out.

When he finally awoke he found something resembling strength and managed to drag Crowley onto the bed. It took all his might, he hadn’t realized how hard it was to rely on only his corporal form’s strength until he couldn’t find the energy to use miracles. Realizing his essence had been bled too long, realizing now that he needed his strength how weak he had become.

He apologized profusely when he dropped Crowley a few times and accidentally toppled him off the bed more then once but at last he had him tucked in. He lay on top of the pile of blankets he had fished out and buried the demon under and just caressed his cheek. He ran his fingers through his hair. He kissed him on the cheek.

“I don’t know what happened, darling, but you can rest now,” he whispered gently cuddling against the demon as he had done for him, “I’ll find the strength to take care of us.”

It had to start with him he finally admitted rising from the bed as the dawn broke once more and light crept into the room. Slithered across Crowley’s face, reminding Aziraphale of the old practice of presenting corpses in their beds for mourners to say one last good bye before burial.

Aziraphale threw off his grimy and sweat soaked pajamas and stepped into the bathroom. He ran a bath, taking in his own corpse like appearance in the full body mirror. He turned away from it stepping into the bath.

He stayed sitting with his legs pulled tightly to his chest, hiding from the rest of the world until his boiling water turned to ice. His once concealing mounds of bubbles evaporated.

He took a deep breath and willed his wings before he could change his mind.

The tub was big enough to easily hold five men, it would have normally had no trouble allowing his wings to fit comfortably but now that they were bare, now that Uriel had picked the last of his molting feathers, they left too much space as his too thin corporal form did.

His heart faltered as his injured and tender wings brushed the cold water, a deep stabbing pain travelled through him as the blood began flowing again, clouding the water red. He took hard breaths trying to ease away the nausea, but it didn’t help much, and he found himself vomiting over the side of the tub, onto the beautiful tile.

Breathing hard and staring at his vomit trying to calm his aching body, his eyes widened. There were trails of golden red lines and golden red stains on white fluffy towels. His miracles from the last week had reversed and his dirty secret was staring him right in the face.

Panicking he shot his head towards the bathroom door and didn’t know if it was a good thing or not Crowley was still asleep. Still blind to the things Aziraphale did to himself.


	26. A little help

Aziraphale didn’t know how to drive, it was merely one of those things he had never bothered with. He never felt the need to drive, when the automobile had been invented, he had a kindly old horse who he didn’t want to just toss out to pasture. It was simply not Maurice’s fault people were beginning to drive those motorized death machines.

When his old horse had passed on, he didn’t have much of an excuse to not learn to drive as Crowley was, but well he had seen Crowley crash and decided against it. Walking was just as well.

He got into his little quarrel with Crowley around that time and just never considered the possibility of learning after that. It felt unnecessary.

Crowley often demanded even now he learn, he would need the skill he stressed but Aziraphale ignored him, the bus was just as well.

Standing in the crowded bus, clinging tightly to the overhead as the rough ride jostled his inflamed limbs around, he finally wished he had a license and could safely drive Crowley’s car. He glanced over at a group of young men crowded together in the seats, passing a beer can between each other, he turned his head away.

He had hardly ever felt anxious to be around the mortals, let alone self-conscious to have them stare at him as a few older women were, but he knew what he had become. He knew how ill he looked. He knew how his cloths hung from his frame, how sunk in his eyes were. He had taken such an embarrassment to the red rim around his eyes from crying for very little reason that morning, he had put on a pair of Crowley’s sunglasses.

He heard a woman mummer to another to keep her purse close, the man standing looked like a junkie. He had never been more ashamed to be in the public and had never felt this out of place. 

He tightened his hold on the strap and ignored the stares, imagined and real, he needed to get food. He wasn’t about to discorporate now, if he let his corporation get ill while his essence was, he would be at the mercy of Heaven.

He had never feared seeing his siblings as he did now.

;

Aziraphale liked, no that was understating it, he loved grocery shopping. Next to the written word, food was high up on his list of things he loved. He had gone a few centuries just roaming, not settled into place as he was now and didn’t always have the luxury of take out food.

He had begun truly experimenting with food and how to prepare it and what ingredients went best together after Rome, when Heaven began assigning him to secluded areas. Forcing him to stay in temples with monks and priests and men of God. It wasn’t that they weren’t good company, it was always that they didn’t appreciate a good meal as he did and there was little he could do to convince them it wasn’t a sin to enjoy eating.

He used to keep notes on the best berries and fruits to pick, what herbs went best with what vegetables, which farmers provided the best meats in the villages. Notes on how to store food, how to pickle it just right. Scrolls upon scrolls slid among holy documents on how to properly make food now that he was out of the city and stuck with people who would rather starve then risk sin.

He eyed the produce at the little stand, picky as ever about which one to put in his cart, finally making his decision.

One thing he quite liked about this century was it was more convenient to not only buy food but to store it and keep it fresh. Maybe he had gotten a little lazy in this regard, maybe he settled for take out more then he ought to now a days, but it never made him feel better than to just pick out his own ingredients. To decide for himself what was going in his body and what he consumed. To create something he could fill with love all on his own and share with his neighbors if he liked.

Crowley needed him to be calm, Crowley needed him to be healthy and to take care of both of them. That pushed him to make strides for the better and push down his growing fears.

He pulled his quite loaded cart up the registers, he never thought through plans and it was just now hitting him how he wasn’t going to be able to drag all this onto a bus with him. If he took a cab, it would still be a difficult task to drag this all up to Crowley’s penthouse. He about pulled himself from line when he felt a hand touch him.

Involuntarily, he tensed and instantly yanked away from the touch, but upon turning his head he felt himself calm seeing it was only Madame Tracy. He gave her his best smile or more accurately, the best he could manage. A poor imitation of his usual smiles, no warmth or love there, but it wasn’t concealing anything like a smile he would give a rude customer, it was just tired. Exhausted trying to pretend to anyone, even himself, he was alright.

“Hello madame,” he said when the words appeared to die on the woman’s lips as she really took him in, “How are you this fine morning?”

“I could ask you the same, Mister Fell.”

Aziraphale fought to keep the smile up at that, he was thankful for his choice in sunglasses, they did a marvelous job of hiding his inner turmoil. Maybe his smile even looked less dead without his eyes reflecting his feelings.

“I am as well as I could be, dear lady,” he tried to keep his voice light but he knew he came off just a tab bit snappish, “Just properly stocking my friend’s cabinets, they have gone quite bare and there is hardly anything edible.”

That was a lie, Crowley had stocked himself up with a variety of canned foods but Aziraphale found himself to proud to settle for it. He had settled for the canned soup last night to settle his stomach and instantly regretted it. He never regretted ingesting food, but he swore he was never going to consume anything from a can again, that was for sure.

“Ya surely don’t plan on taking all that on the bus, do you?” she asked concerned craning her head over to his full basket, he knew he had gone overboard, but he had planned so many meals in his head on the way here while his stomach grumbled.

He just didn’t know how much he had in him to leave Crowley’s flat, he would rather have enough food to hibernate awhile. Hide and lick his wounds in solitude while he mulled over what he should do.

By his silence, she must have worked out he didn’t exactly plan this through and was kind enough to take over for him.

“Let me help you love,” she said gently, “Borrowed a friend of mine’s car for the day, I’ll take ya right back to yer friend’s flat or yer book shop if you like.”

“Oh no!” Aziraphale immediately protested but the woman wasn’t hearing it, she was already taking his cart from him and wheeling it to the front of the line, forgetting entirely about her own errands to help out a man she had only met once or twice now.

If there was any soul Aziraphale could call holy, Madame Tracy would be high on that list in that moment.

;

Madame Tracy was a rather bossy woman Aziraphale found, he supposed she had to be to deal with a man as Shadwell like she did. She took charge the moment she even sensed he needed help, pushing aside a celestial being thousands of years older than she and fretting over him.

He found he liked her driving quite a bit more then Crowley’s, she kept her eyes on the road and mumbled her hand positions a few times to herself and managed to mind the signs. He hadn’t meant to comment on it, but he was just so bemused by the fact someone drove safely, it just slipped out.

“Of course, love,” she chuckled, “I am mindful on when to take a risk and getting into a senseless accident or being arrested for something as benign as failing to heed traffic laws isn’t worth it. I have other things I need my luck for.”

Aziraphale chuckled at that, humans never ceased to amuse him.

“Ah, not putting all your hens in a basket,” he chuckled, she gave him a confused look not getting it. It was an American phrase from what he had heard, and someone had used it on the Telly, he was sure of it.

“Something of the sort,” she chuckled parking in front of Crowley’s complex.

“Nice and clean neighborhood you landed yerself in, Mr. Fell,” she said with a whistle, admiring the building, “Ya land yerself with a businessman?”

“I suppose you could call his line of work that.”

She snorted to that and asked politely but with a bit of a threat to her cheerful tone for one of the security officers in front to assist them in carrying their groceries upstairs. Aziraphale told them the room number and a fear passed through their eyes and they instantly told them they would handle it all.

Madame Tracy gave him a strange look, coming to her own conclusions and well Aziraphale couldn’t exactly lie to her and say what he did wasn’t immoral. He may not be a nefarious highway robber or crime boss as she was likely thinking but it didn’t mean all those souls weren’t connected to Hell just like Crowley.

;

“Ah thank you for the help, madame,” Aziraphale began, if not out of obligation, then out of a need to always be polite. He kept himself at a distance and hoped she wouldn’t want to hug him, he kept his hands firmly clasped in front of himself and his back straight.

He had hoped it would be just that easy to get rid of the woman, feeling the exhaustion setting in. He needed a cup of tea and he needed a bath before he started dinner. Then he would try to wake Crowley and when that failed, he would likely pass out himself. Yes, he liked a solid plan, it helped him get through the day without trouble and entertaining a guest was something he wasn’t sure he could do.

“I’m in no rush, Mr. Fell,” she tutted sitting herself down behind the counter and pulling out a cigarette from her clutch purse. Aziraphale opened his mouth to ask her to not smoke in Crowley’s home, but just didn’t have the energy to argue, he let her do it.

He went about putting his food away and putting on a cup of tea. A bath could wait, he was very dismayed at that, he always liked to eat to unwind, not have to unwind after eating.

“Let me ‘elp ya, dear,” she said firmly keeping the cigarette between her lips as she grabbed Aziraphale by the hips making his heart about stop at the closeness. He shoved her away harder then he would have liked and put distance between them.

He was shaking, he was silently commanding himself to get it together as the woman all at once sensed something was wrong just by the intended playful action. Aziraphale pushed himself against the far counter and gripped it as his knees faltered.

Get it together, he thought to himself again but just found himself shaking harder, he felt a bruising grip on his hips once more and bit hard on his tongue to keep from crying out at the pain. His body was doing it again, he felt hot tears misting his eyes, it was doing it again and Crowley wasn’t here and he was with a mortal and all he could think about was Gabriel.

He jumped feeling Madame Tracy pull his borrowed sunglasses off, giving him a concerned look and running her thumb over the fresh tears misting his vision.

“Ya don’t have to explain or be afraid, Mister Fell,” she said gently keeping her distance, “I’ve seen this reaction before from being touched.”

The dam of tears broke at that and the woman was there to catch him before he hit the kitchen floor. He felt such deep shame in a mortal guessing what happened, he felt such deep shame he wanted to defend Gabriel still. The words were tumbling over themselves and getting wrapped together in his mind in a large disorganized mess, the denial, the truth he just wanted to say, the excuses.

She led him to the living room and sat him down.

“Are ya here alone, Mr. Fell?”

His silence was the answer, he was technically alone yeah, Crowley wouldn’t be around for awhile. He finally found himself nodding long after the question had been answered as the woman came back in with some tea for him, setting it in his shaking hands.

“Yer friend on a business-related trip?”

He gave her a strange look at that, if she called going comatose due to stress business, that was certainly where Crowley had gone.

She took a long sip of tea, looking at the stacks of books on the coffee table.

“Yer a very nice man,” she finally began, “Mrs. Doyle is up in arms with worry, she told me so when I went to make sure Shadwell came home after his little accident. She told me how yer health has been going down hill and how scared ya are.”

She took a pause, flattening out her modest summer dress, fluffing out the petticoat underneath before bringing the lacey hems over it.

“Shadwell was always so mean to ya, he would say horrible things to yer face and behind yer back. He calls ya the southern pansy and ya never took offense. When his alcoholism was makin’ him act loopy, ya just helped him, no questions asked. Made sure he came home and made sure he had food to eat and even tried to be the kinda friend a man like ‘im probably don’t deserve.”

Aziraphale tried to protest, it was in all honesty, his fault Shadwell ended up like that, but the woman wouldn’t hear it staring at him.

“I think ya deserve that kind of kindness in return. The kind of gentleness that leads a sick and abused man to giving a lady he doesn’t even know his nice thick jacket just cause he thinks she’s cold and let’s her give him his fortune and tipped extra even though you don’t believe in that nonsense.” 

She gave him a gentle smile, a genuine and kind smile that made a ghost of one appear on Aziraphale’s lips.

“Don’t think of it as charity love, just think of it as a neighbor helping out. Let me give you a hand until yer businessman comes back.” 

He couldn’t deny her that, it would be rude to turn her down now.


	27. Truth

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Its always hard getting the chapters just right as they should be when you working to the end game of a story. So if the story starts getting slower updates now, that's probably why. 
> 
> Also! In related news, I have a tumblr for this account now, so if you ever do want to chat, ask questions or if you ever make lovely fan art for my fics, you can go there: https://fanlan1.tumblr.com/

Routines were good and they helped get Aziraphale through the day. They helped him get through the first week, then the first month and then the next four months without Crowley.

Lie next to Crowley an extra hour before getting up to make tea and breakfast, clean up afterwards, reading until noon when Madame Tracey always came by to check on him, dinner preparation, ending the day with the Telly before retiring to lie next to Crowley once more. Once a week, take the bus to check on his shop, make sure it was still in order, straighten up a little before leaving.

It was a rather simple schedule compared to the kind he kept at his shop, there was much less to deal with, less attempts at helping others, and much less paperwork. It wasn’t busy work, it didn’t take his mind off things, it just gave him more of a chance to think on things.

Masticate on the thoughts, grind them into a fine paste that was just easier to be washed into other thoughts not related to them. 

He had nothing more to do on a day like this, a lazy Sunday as Crowley would say, he gathered his yarn basket he had picked up from the shop last he was there and began crocheting. He only glanced up when he heard Tracy enter.

“Traffic was a nightmare today,” she said with an exaggerated sigh tossing her umbrella into the stand next to the door and tossed the jacket at the coat rack, where it promptly fell. Tracy was wonderful company, but she wasn’t always the tidiest person.

“Cab driver nearly got into four accidents on the way ‘ere alone!”

Aziraphale hummed in sympathy, he had his fair share of terrifying vehicle rides. All had been with Crowley, now that he thought on it, but it still stood he felt he preferred walking. Maybe he would learn to ride a velocipede, he had always found them quite charming when they had the large wheels. It was funny how he never considered riding one before considering them dangerous but now that even normal velocipedes had shift gears and were all about speed, he was considering more and more going to the antique shop and buying a vintage one.

“Is the weather bad today, madame?”

She made a noise of confirmation, walking towards the kitchen and putting on the pot of tea for teatime. Aziraphale had heard the low drumming when he had gotten up that morning, but it was drowned out by the sounds of Schubert, Crowley it seemed did have some taste still in his vast collection of records. Aziraphale was quite proud of himself for figuring out how to use the device all on his own, it really wasn’t too different then his phonograph at home.

“Always liked rain though, so not too down about it,” she said re entering the room with two cups of tea, “Good for business.”

Aziraphale thanked her and smiled, he didn’t want to appear rude, so he didn’t ask which business.

“Where’s your businessman at now?”

Aziraphale thought on it a moment, how easy it would be to say ‘oh he isn’t anywhere at all, he’s in bed at the moment’ but that felt like it would raise questions if she tried to wake him. He didn’t want to accidentally commit Crowley to a dreadful stay at a human hospital until he was able to wake up or Aziraphale was able to get his own miracles back under control.

“Crowley,” he felt he should start with, feeling rather foolish he had never told her his name before, “His name is Crowley. And he’s away on a little trip still, called last night saying it would be a bit longer, he’s a musician. Writes sheets for the highest bidder.”

This wasn’t a complete lie, Aziraphale had witnessed Crowley write plenty of music over the years. Aziraphale always found he quite liked playing the lute and the piano and likely had taken to the guitar in recent years. He always sold it as he was making pieces so sinfully artful anyone would sell their souls to take them but Aziraphale knew. He knew Crowley simply liked to play and he liked to imagine a future where Crowley could just play his instruments and Aziraphale could lounge next to him with his books and they would be at peace.

“Wouldn’t be Anthony J Crowley, would it now dear?”

He glanced from his daydreams and into Tracy’s shocked face. The outrage was almost comical on someone so cheerful as she was but the strong mortification and almost terror made Aziraphale take it seriously setting his cup down.

“That is him.”

“Yer safe with ‘im, right love?”

Aziraphale would have laughed at the question, technically, he was far from it. He was easily earning another lashing, possibly risking falling, fraternizing with the enemy as he was. Yet, he knew beyond all logic, he was safest with Crowley. Crowley would never hurt him, and he only wanted to help him, whether it be a demonic temptation or not, it was what he needed right now.

“I know his reputation is quite…” he didn’t have the right word, so he left it there for Tracy to fill in with whatever she was considering. It was hard to think of nasty traits on someone who dropped everything and risked the wrath of hell to care for him.

“Colorful,” Madame Tracy finally finished the thought, Aziraphale was thankful she didn’t use a harsh word for him. He took a drink from his tea and went back to his knitting shears as a silence stretched around the room. The record had kicked off awhile ago without Aziraphale’s notice and he finally noticed the pitter patter of rain drops on the roof.

“I know its not my place love, but you really ought to be careful with that one,” she said gently and Aziraphale put his sheers down giving her a strange look.

Aziraphale knew it would be a lie to claim ‘Crowley was a good man’, it was incorrect in every way. Crowley was not a man and he was far from good; he was a demon of hell. Not the traditional knight in shining armor humans expected to fall in love with. Thinking on it he was was the opposite seeing as he was the fabled black knight but Aziraphale shook away that thought, that was besides the point.

Instead, he tried to be good humored about it, Aziraphale knew what Crowley was. He had even done his fair share of the demon’s tempts during their vast and complicated relationship together. He wasn’t weary the way Heaven wished him to be, he made himself vulnerable stretching his wing to his hereditary enemy after giving away his only weapon. It all brought that tight, suffocating feeling back to him, constricting his corporation’s organs and taking his breath away he didn’t need, even it indeed turned out he was wronged by Gabriel it wasn’t like he didn’t deserve punishment.

“Have a run in with him then?”

He just chuckled expecting a wild story involving some law broken, some dubious and stretched moral choices on Crowley’s part and something expected from well, a demon. He went back to his scarf, it was going to be a lovely shade of red. A lovely scarlet to match his demon’s hair.

He hadn’t been as foolish as he led himself to believe that day on the wall, he knew what a demon was, he sensed it when Crowley approached him, he had felt his presence in the garden. He wasn’t a complete fool; he saw the snake slithering in the grass.

But he had a comforting aura to him, he sensed his passions and excitements about everything he did, and that enthusiasm was something Aziraphale wished for himself. He felt warmer and braver just thinking of Crowley’s endless creativity, the thing he admired most about him, a storyteller at heart.

He was deeply woven into his own version of Crowley, he accidentally stabbed himself when Tracy told him something to shatter that perception of someone who would never do wrong by Aziraphale.

“Not me, per say but Mista Shadwell did,” she had begun nervously wringing her hands a bit, “I think he lead ‘im back into crime again, always calling late night and visiting at odd hours, last I saw of ‘im he was enraged by Shadwell losing some such knife and tossed ‘im down the stairs. I’m just a bit worried of ‘im doing the same to you love, if I may be so bold.”

She glanced over at Aziraphale, stock still, deliberately forcing the knitting sheer deeper into his palm until a prick of blood finally began to flow. Instinctively, she pulled the object away from him in his state of shock and began fussing over the little cut. 

The knife, the one he had thought was given to him by the almighty herself to help him find forgiveness was from Crowley. Crowley asking him where he found the knife, Shadwell had seen Gabriel, Crowley arrived that night when Gabriel punished him for Shadwell seeing, it was all looping and repeating in his head like a broken record, snapping into place. Things he didn’t bother to question before. 

He felt the blood draining from his face.

He was going through the motions until Madame Tracy left, she had three appointments that afternoon, it seemed like something he would be interested in. She was talking lively about a magician’s wife trying to contact he deceased husband. He had asked who her husband had been but his mind didn’t register the answer.

His mind was stuck on Shadwell had walked in on Gabriel, had seen what Gabriel had done, had been doing and Crowley saw exactly that through his eyes.

He never stopped to question why Crowley was at his shop that night, why he instantly knew it had been Gabriel who harmed him, he never questioned. He never thought of the larger picture, he just assumed things were meant to happen for a reason.

He found himself vomiting in the kitchen sink that night, gripping the sides of the sink hard as he vomited harder.

God hadn’t sent him that knife, it had practically been gift wrapped to him by Crowley and a fear was gathering in the pit of his stomach, bubbling and burning and spinning.

He found himself staggering into the bedroom around three am, witching hour, nothing ever went right at three am he half thought to himself trying to distract the same build up of dreadful thoughts that kept spinning and swirling and overflowing.

“You lied,” he hissed at the demon, “Even after you promised, promised you wouldn’t kill Gabriel, you were still going to do it, weren’t you?”

There was no bite to the statement, he couldn’t find any real anger. He just walked past the bed and walked into the bathroom.

It was clean and smelled of bleach. Aziraphale had taken to scrubbing the room almost daily, a deep anxiety filling him about Crowley finding out about his unorthodox way of finding inner peace. Months on months of scrubbing, the blood stains were gone but Aziraphale knew they were there. Feared they would come back.

Aziraphale tossed his clothing off and pulled the knife from his inner pocket he had been keeping it in. Crowley had obviously seen this blade as vengeance. Aziraphale saw it as relief, choosing to do something on his own tuition. Bleed himself instead of being bled. Even knowing it all added to nothing, God still did not hear him, She had not sent him any kind of answer, he still felt that urge.

He just wanted to pretend things were getting better again, he had never been closer to that then when he drew his own bled, bled for forgiveness of a different kind.

Holy men suffered for Her all the time, they did not question and when they did, their suffering only became worse. He had witnessed it and had been told the cries for mercy were just, they had to suffer for their sins before they would be forgiven.

He glanced to the door and realized he left it wide open, if Crowley were to wake now, he would catch him in this vulnerable state. Aziraphale almost wanted that, he just wanted someone to give him an answer he couldn’t grasp.

He sat on the ground, not bothering to conceal his actions with water, not bothering to clean this up and let his wings come out. He stared onto their destroyed state, this is what had become of him.

He let out a choked sob and threw the knife, watching as it bounced off the wall and landed in the grand bathtub.

He let his bare and battered wings wrap around him and ran his fingers over the scars, picking at the scabs until they trickled blood.


	28. Empty

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gah, I really hate making long chapters cause they take too long to write and I like to update quicker, so if I keep making the end goal more chapters its cause I ultimately split them in half. 
> 
> As always, I have no editor and I write this on my own. Criticism is very welcome. I use this as a first draft (one I have fun writing) and will edit better after it is complete.

He must have passed out on the bathroom floor, when he awoke, he was no longer lying on cool black marble but in soft, lush grass that tickled his nose. He rose slowly and despite the beauty of the garden, he felt nothing short of dread.

He reached his fingers over to a patch of daisies and began plucking them, refusing to turn around to the presence he felt behind him. His battered and bare wings were still out, vulnerable, if his sibling wished to grab them and sever them from his form, he would be able to do nothing. They sagged in his dread and protectively wrapped themselves around him as he began weaving the daisies into a little crown, just as he had done when he was on duty here.

He remembered being so happy and proud of himself then instead of empty and embarrassed.

“Aziraphale,” He didn’t turn to face Uriel, he straightened his shoulders stubbornly instead wishing she had left him on the bathroom floor where he passed out.

“Aziraphale,” his eyes widened, and he did turn at that voice, it was Michael. A shiver ran through them and they were sure even his vacant corporation was feeling this cold and terror.

They did not sound particularly happy to be here seeing him, they had the look of utter discontent they always had when they met. Uriel’s hands neatly folded in front of them and Michael’s hands behind their back, an astute general larger than life ready to give orders.

Aziraphale wasn’t as foolish or as naïve as they had always acted as if he was, he knew they despised him. He felt that weight gathering more now looking at them, they always had to take care of the problem that was Aziraphale. Aziraphale who never did right and was always in need of being corrected and forced back into place.

Even now he could feel it in the way they looked at him, evaluated him, a problem to be solved. What could be done with Aziraphale?

He looked away again, his entire body sagging under the weight of the evaluation, turning to his wings. He wrapped them around him, cocooning him from the judgmental looks from Michael.

He cringed feeling one of his wings being yanked away from his body and just by the sharp way they held the wing, Aziraphale knew it was Michael who had grabbed him. He felt wounds reopening as fingers ran across them and heard Michael tutting.

“Uriel, your healing needs practice,” they reprimanded their sibling without even glancing up, “He’s still bleeding. The essence is damaged, possibly beyond repair. It will take time to patch itself together again and see what the lasting damage will be.”

They tutted making Aziraphale cry out as they almost purposely dug their delicate nails into his wound, making them fresh once more and seemed almost amused by his squirming.

“Gabriel and Sandalphon definitely went too far and you were right to try to patch the damage.”

“Thank you, Michael.”

Aziraphale felt tears misting his eyes, they were speaking as if he wasn’t even here. Not many had the memory of the day they were created, but Aziraphale did. He wished he could say they had at least been warm towards him that day, but it had begun like this. Business. It was just business. Aziraphale had always desperately wanted to be loved by them but now he felt he would give anything to not be viewed as an object. Something more important to them then a soldier of the lord only here to take orders.

Michael wasn’t kind and they weren’t gentle, they made Aziraphale miss Uriel’s clinical hand. He was crying, he hated how emotional he was, but he was crying when Michael shoved him over and commanded Uriel to pull his wings out farther without even consulting him first. Uriel had done that at least, they had at least addressed Aziraphale, he was quite literally an object to Michael.

“Stop…”

Michael ignored his soft plea and kept yanking at his wings, eying every part of them looking for imperfections she would try to mold.

;

Feeling violated wasn’t even a new feeling anymore, but as Aziraphale sat in the shower, letting the water pour over him, he found himself silently wishing he didn’t always get this feeling from angels. From his siblings. From beings who were supposed to love him, but never had.

He tucked his wings in and pulled on his fluffy, well loved and wearing at the seams red velvet robe. He pulled it tight around his bare body and took a deep breath, taking in the hundred-year musk and dust and a hint of the new cologne he had been using. It smelt like him, but he didn’t feel himself. He pulled a cigarette from Crowley’s robe, new and fashionable, a hideous cheetah print that made Aziraphale’s nostrils flare in disdain. There was a pack of matches for a gentleman’s club Crowley went to in the upper drawer on the sink’s counter, he pulled them up and lit up his cigarette.

He walked past Crowley, still asleep, oblivious to Aziraphale’s mood shift.

He wasn’t angry, he wasn’t sad, he wasn’t disappointed, if anything he wished he could feel those things. He wished he could feel like a being with thoughts and feelings and something that was wrong to exploit the way Heaven did him.

Instead he felt hollow.

There was a fully stocked mini bar on the other side of the living room, decked up and trendy enough to serve guests. There were no guests now and there hadn’t been before Aziraphale came here. It was just a trendy piece of décor to drink until you couldn’t feel anymore.

Well, maybe until Crowley didn’t have to feel anymore, Aziraphale didn’t glance at the mix sheets Crowley left on the side, recipes for drinks, he just popped open a bottle of Guinness and necked it.

;

Aziraphale went to his bookstore the next day, he just wanted a day without seeing Crowley like that. He had sworn to not suffer alone anymore, and he tried to keep that promise and he would try to keep it soon, but right now he just wanted to be alone.

Even if he had the energy to, he didn’t think he would have magically made himself sober, he just wanted to feel something and if it was a hangover, so be it.

He sat with his hangover on the bus and he had never truly despised public transportation as he did now. He didn’t enjoy the bus, he wasn’t a child for heaven’s sake, but he never hated it. It always felt more comforting to ride in a vehicle that drove safely within the speed limits and got him to destination just as well as any other means. He had always enjoyed spontaneous creating little miracles for young mothers who looked like they needed a break and easing their children to sleep or helping elders find relief from their pain.

Listening to the young man’s blaring handheld radio in the seat in front of him and hearing the man in the seat behind him screaming to him, a literal angel, about Heaven and Hell, made him wish to combust in his seat. There was no witty retort for the man. No stern reprimand for the young man and his music. He didn't even turn his head to the young woman with the screaming toddler on the brink of a mental break down, he just sat there with perfect posture, mind blank. 

He felt nothing short of relief to be off the bus and felt some nerve return to him as he walked down the sidewalk to his shop, getting sympathetic stares from his neighbors as he didn't even glance at his favorite bakery first. He had promised Crowley he would eat and sleep and he would but he couldn't yet.

He entered his shop at last and was compelled to evaluate what he had been doing with his centuries. Had anything he done been truly for the good? What was so different between his miracles and Crowley’s tempts, was it all arbitrary?

He had never questioned but he felt like it was all he could do now as he stepped into his office and set his mind on gathering out all of his scrolls and parchments and notices he had been receiving since he first came to Earth. Every last scrap of parchment he had received from his siblings, anything that could provide him with an answer to this problem his emotions wouldn't let him come to. He needed any answer at this point, if falling was the answer, he would have to take it. He couldn't live like this a moment longer. 

His purpose had been to do the lord’s bidding and help along the ineffable plan, fighting against evil when he had to. Seeking out profits and saints, seeking Her word she gave to the mortals. Using his miracles to save good and just souls, his purpose had been for healing, for love.

He felt Gabriel grabbing him and forcing him against his desk making hot tears begin to fall, he felt Michael forcefully yanking his wings around, no finesse or gentle touches. He was something to be tossed around and Uriel had suggested it was his duty. It was his duty to allow his siblings to do as they wished with him, to kneel before Gabriel and allow him to force himself inside him. To keep his mouth shut and allow Michael to touch his wings without consent in such a rough manner, allow them to fondle them and bleed them carelessly in the guise of healing. He was to just stand pray as Sandalphon beat him with his whip, let himself be. He forced himself to think it, think of it was it was, let himself be raped. 

He didn’t want to question his siblings, he didn’t want to question Heaven, he wanted to go back to blindly believing they could do no wrong and their mother was always there guiding them.

He felt Her silence, she hadn’t been directly talking to her angels since Eden. He had always prayed she was still watching but he had to wonder if She was. He snapped on gloves pulling out a delicate trunk from a special safe in the closet of his back room where his oldest treasures were stored and protected from the temperature, thousands of years old, he had it made by a very refined carpenter back when he was young. Hid it away in caves before he had his shop to collect his belongings. 

He paused in his frantic digging and frantically tossing his books and material possessions around in a mad energy to just find an answer. His framed Da Vinci slid from the wall and he frowned at the little parchment underneath it. 

;

“You know dear,” Aziraphale said climbing into bed that night, resting his head on Crowley’s chest, “You are very rubbish at making sigils.”

“I found you little ‘warning bell’ in my study today while I was doing business of my own,” he paused staring at Crowley’s sleeping face, he might as well be a corpse. His chest did not rise and fall, his eyes didn’t flicker beneath his lids nor did he move from the position Aziraphale set him. It took Aziraphale several times to remind himself, they were not human. Their corporations could be human like, they could have human needs if they didn’t get enough energy from their essence, but they were essentially dolls. A suit their true forms slipped into snuggly to interact with the mortals who would otherwise not see or hear them. 

He ran his fingers across his face, it was cool, but he felt Crowley’s true self deep within him, he was still here and he was still attached to his corporation. His essence was still flowing through its veins and organs, but they were powered down so to speak. Reserving energy while Crowley’s conscious went wherever it went when he slept like this. 

“It was sloppy work, Gabriel’s sigil is a bit curvier, the jagged edges of yours wouldn’t have alerted you of him entering the shop. In fact, it was a more demonic sign and didn’t have the right accents to be angelic. I’m afraid when you fell you likely forgot how to pronounce the Enochian words, much less write them.”

He continued on as if Crowley were listening anyway, he just wanted to fill the void of silence.

“I know its common to use the demonic forms of our language to alert demons of our presence, Lucifer I heard was very good at crafting his language and his spells for the kingdom he created down there. But with specific angels, especially higher up angels like Gabriel who have a bit more might to their name, you wouldn’t have caught him. It was a good try dear and I commend you for your effort, but I made you promise to leave him be for another reason other then my genuine love for my siblings.”

He paused again, he had never told Crowley earnestly for he had always known he would be angry about it but Aziraphale loved and admired his siblings. He always thought they were just tough around the edges and felt the same for him as well and that’s what lead them to be harsher with him. It was easier to just admit he believed in Heaven, which was true, but it was a bit more personal then just that.

“Gabriel wouldn’t care if I did tell him how good you are deep down,” another pause and a small chuckle, “And don’t deny it, you are the kindest and most loving demon to ever exist, that will ever exist and I still believe you don’t belong down there with those beasts. Even She makes mistakes my dear, I am proof of that.”

A trail of tears slowly made there way down at the admission and he swiped them away, clearing the lump in his throat as he continued.

“He wouldn’t just kill you; he would make you wish you were dead for daring to put a…what is the word mortals use? When they wish to dispose of other mortals?” 

A pause and an aggravated sigh.

“I suppose it doesn’t really matter does it? The point is: he would make you wish for Holy Water. You saw what he did to me under the guise of love, imagine what he would do under the guise of hate and treason against Heaven.”


	29. love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some self harm at the very very end for anyone who doesn't want to read. I know its a very sensitive subject, one I know well, so I'm gonna tag the beginning of each chapter with a warning of it for now on.

A low pounding woke Aziraphale the next morning, he pushed himself up and glanced at the alarm clock on Crowley’s nightstand. He frowned, that couldn’t be right, it was after two. He pulled the curtains back and saw the dreary, cloudy day outside.

He sighed pulling his robe on, he had wasted the day in bed again it seemed. He made his way to the front door, taking the time to lock the bedroom door behind him so Madame Tracy couldn’t just open it and find Crowley sleeping inside.

He felt a ping of anxiety glancing over to the mini bar on the side of the room, there were half empty bottles lying around it from the last few nights, the kitchen overflowing with dishes he hadn’t washed from days ago and the coffee table had a nice pile up of files from his shop and books he had trying to comfort himself with.

He had been hiding from the world for a week now here in Crowley’s fortress, Heaven didn’t know where it was, Hell hardly cared Crowley was sleeping again, and he had just ignored all of Madame Tracy’s good natured knocks day after day not up to dealing with her.

It wouldn’t do to keep being so rude, so he put his chin up and made his best happy front. By the time he opened the door, he was already regretting his action, he forgot to get dressed. He was in nothing but his robe. That was extremely improper, his mind was screaming at him for the rudeness of it all.

He kept himself firmly behind the door and attempted to tell the woman about his mistake.

“I’m afraid I just got out of bed,” he began but Tracy was hearing nothing of it, pushing open the door and tutting she had seen it all.

“Love I came over the last few days and you weren’t here, is something wrong…”

She trailed off as she entered the penthouse and instantly noticed the state of it. The once minimalistic and stylish upstate penthouse had become just as cluttered and just as messy as Aziraphale’s book shop. He had brought a lot of his documents from the shop and too many books, the cab driver had quite a few nasty words to say to him as he loaded down his trunk and wasted twenty minutes of his time.

Shame and humiliation were constant companions for Aziraphale anymore, but it had been sometime since he brought them upon himself. Opening the door and letting a mortal see just how bad his depression had gotten to just let his dear friend Crowley’s home fall apart like this was beyond humiliating.

Tracy said nothing, seemingly ignoring the mess and just giving him a reassuring smile. It didn’t make Aziraphale feel any better, but he smiled back, it felt rude to not make a similar effort to lighten the mood.

“I’m afraid I have been taking on too much work again,” he tried an excuse, something mortal and something reasonable to explain away the stacks of papers he had brought and tossed about.

“I have been attempting fruitlessly to translate a few scrolls,” he began his lie and it wasn’t even working on him, he doubted it worked on a sharp woman like Tracy. She was giving him a thoughtful look, letting him keep his thoughts to himself, she wasn’t going to pry. She made her way into the kitchen and began cleaning up the mess wordlessly.

Aziraphale sighed to himself and went to assist her, it would be rude of him to make her clean up his mess by herself.

;

To say Aziraphale never had mortal friends would simply be untrue and an honest mockery to those friendships that still deeply touched Aziraphale.

He had loved Eve in the garden and had been immature enough to think she was his best friend and foolish enough to think they would stay in the garden for all time playing games together. She had been the first of God’s creations to show him undivided love. He had always liked Adam but he reminded him a lot of Gabriel, he was astute and a stickler for the rules, he got very anxious whenever Aziraphale had tried to befriend him always reminding him Gabriel had told him he needed to be at his post at all times.

Eve had been mischievous and fun loving. She loved the flowers and she loved the animals and she loved the food just as much as Aziraphale. She had a curious nature and asked questions often about what things were called, Aziraphale had been young, the youngest of the angels and the last angel God herself would create and didn’t always have answers to those questions.

He had asked Michael and they had told him firmly that wasn’t his concern, he was always to mind his post and be vigilant for threats to God’s creatures. When not at his post, he would be training with his siblings for the up coming war that would ineffably come.

Aziraphale hated training and always made excuses why he couldn’t leave his post about threats he was sure would happen if he left and his siblings always left him be after that. He would then go down to see Eve and she taught him a new game, they made up their own names for the plants and animals and foods they loved so.

Aziraphale would always carry a small ache deep within him that he had let his first friend down as he had, he let her fall into sin and had likely been the reason she was swayed so easily by a demon. It was always a little ironic Aziraphale would be led astray by the same demon.

That ache had muted over the years and as more and more mortals came in and out of his life, it was easy to let his love and memory of Eve sink down into the pit of his heart. He felt it again though as he helped Tracy clean up the apartment once more.

She reminded him so much of Eve, more so then any other mortal he had ever come into association with.

She had an optimism he didn’t always see, and she seemed to have everything figured out in that same sense Eve did boldly naming every fruit in the garden before getting permission from the almighty. Tracy often got basics facts about death and spirits and prophecy wrong, but she spun her take in such a way Aziraphale felt young again, felt taken in that way only Eve had ever made him feel. He couldn’t doubt either woman, they said things in such an assured way they could almost pull the wool over an immortal heavenly hosts eyes who hoped he knew better.

“It’s not quite speaking to the dead, but I once learned a few parlor tricks myself,” Aziraphale found himself saying as they washed dishes together.

“Oh really? Whatcha learn love?” She asked in a way that made Aziraphale pause, no one had ever been this excited about his fondness for magic before. He had always been met with eyerolls from Crowley and reparation from Gabriel when he was caught in doing a coin trick.

He pulled a twopence from the pocket of his robe, the little silver coin was dulling with age and not quite as shiny as the day it was handed to Aziraphale for the first book he sold in 1850 (not a first edition, not signed, but a perfectly good copy of Discourse on the origin and inequality among men for a lovely young man with a passion for reading). King George’s profile was still clear as day though despite the dulling and Aziraphale’s fingers traced over the indented 1797 on the back. The coin had been out of the public sight for some time, so Tracy’s eyebrow raise at it wasn’t surprising.

“Its quite the lost art, not many have the patience to practice with their bebop and roller rinks and the bug men,” he began his spiel, it was part of the act, leaning forward keeping the coin in Tracy’s line of sight as he leaned against the counter, elbow nearly falling in the dish water making the woman chuckle harder.

“I believe yer talking of the Beatles love and I think you would quite like them if you gave them a chance, they are lovely and that John Lennon is quite easy on the eyes, would love to get me hands on ‘im.”

Aziraphale chose to not respond to that, he had only ever found one human tempting enough to even fantasize about sexual acts with and he most certainly didn’t go around calling himself an insect.

“Sorry, dove, I interrupted yer little ‘I learned the lost art of telekinesis’ skit. Teleporting coins is a talent I ain’t seen since the last time I assisted the magician.”

Aziraphale found himself impressed by that, palming his coin and absently putting it through the old disappearance routine. Crowley thought it was a foolish endeavor for an ethereal being to learn fake magic. Even Heaven looked down on this, he once told Gabriel about a magic act he saw take place and Gabriel had told him it was deceitful and only something demons would be interested in to trick the stupid masses, not something he should care about.

“Ah,” he said with a smile feeling like he finally found someone who didn’t look down on the art, “You have performed, madame?”

“Aye,” she said almost dreamily with a low chuckle, “Magicians are fun to gag and bind on and off the stage, very flexible that lot.” 

Aziraphale sputtered at that and Tracy began giggling as he dropped the pence right into the dirty dish water and his sputtering turned to cursing.

;

Months passed and summer melted into fall.

Aziraphale had never been big on any mortal holiday, he felt they were constantly changing and never quite the way he remembered them from century to century. It was always a bit of a rude reminder he wasn’t truly human; he didn’t have warm nostalgy to give him real appreciation for holidays like the mortals.

He did, however, have a strong adoration for the love that flowed off humans when the holiday seasons approached. It was an intoxicating warmth the more sincere they were for that love and Madame Tracy had a blinding aura of love and pleasure about her today as she prepared for her Halloween party.

Aziraphale always felt fine just hiding in Crowley’s penthouse, some weeks he even refused his visits to his shop, an odd fear about the place resonating in him. He hated being afraid to enter his home, the place his precious books were but the stronger he felt himself getting the more he feared the abuse would return. He wasn’t ready for it to start again; he still had no answers and was still so uncertain if he deserved it or not or if he could continue to just exist that way. If his purpose was to just exist that way.

The more strength he recovered and the calmer he felt with Madame Tracy around, his miracles were returning. His feathers were re-growing on his wings and his weight was coming back, no longer did he look or feel on death’s door, but he still couldn’t shake the images of being in the bastille once more. Of knowing it was only a matter of time before his executioner would arrive and pull him to the figurative guillotine, this time there would be no Crowley to save him. He wouldn’t literally be executed he knew but he still felt it in his soul a part of him would die and even Crowley wouldn’t be able to bring it back if he returned to the way it was before.

Currently, he wasn’t thinking about those things. For the first time in months, he wasn’t thinking about Heaven or what was to become of him, he wasn’t thinking about Crowley or what became of Crowley, why he wouldn’t wake up, why he went to sleep to begin with.

He was at a lovely pumpkin patch to the south of Oxfordshire, eying each pumpkin with care. He absolutely had to get to his dear friend the perfect pumpkins to decorate her home for the holiday she cared so much about.

He could miracle the perfect pumpkin, make the one that had the perfect shade of orange bigger or even make the perfect round pumpkin the perfect shade of orange instead of the sickly dull color it was, but that felt like cheating.

The poor farm hand looked ready to yank his hair out, nothing was perfect for Aziraphale and he knew he was asking inane questions, but he just had to get perfect pumpkins for Tracy. He couldn’t thank the woman enough for all she was doing for him and making her favorite holiday near perfect in the sincerest way he could almost felt close enough.

“I don’t like the lumps on this one,” Aziraphale said with a frown poking one of the last pumpkins stacked nicely on the hay bales and turned his head towards the un harvested pumpkins outside of the tent they stood in, “Might I look at the fresh pumpkins? These are just not what I am looking for.”

The farm hand, a poor wisp of a boy whose cloths didn’t seem to fit his tall frame and reminded Aziraphale of a scarecrow, looked on the brink of a meltdown. He tightened a firm smile, showing off his yellow and crooked teeth and just agreed to Aziraphale’s terms on the condition that he just pick a pumpkin and leave. Preferably to never return to the farm again. He mumbled the last part but Aziraphale had heard him.

Aziraphale hmphed loudly in annoyance to the rudeness, not seeing the irony of how he treated most customers and how the boy he was badgering was treating him.

If Crowley were here, he would be smiling and would finally feel at ease seeing Aziraphale acting like himself after a long hibernation.

;

“I know my darling, you have never been a fan of Halloween, I know you rather think of it like the parlor version of demonic work. A cliché like lurking in graveyards or dancing in the pale moon light, all American mumbo jumbo as you say.”

It had always been something Aziraphale did, from his first century long sleep to the times he slept decades at a time (at the times Aziraphale didn’t understand it but he hated how well he understood those moments now after spending two weeks in front of the telly) to now. Talking to Crowley while he slept, telling him about his day or asking with annoyance why he must sleep so long was just what he had always done and would likely always do when the time arose.

He once asked Crowley if he heard him when he spoke to him while he slept and his response was a confused and annoyed no, wondering why he would talk to someone sleeping. Whether he heard him talking or if it was something Crowley wanted him doing it didn’t matter, it made Aziraphale feel better and right now he needed to feel at ease. Crowley wanted him to get better and the stress of his weakness about the situation led to another depression nap, so maybe now Crowley wouldn’t be mad if his talking did wake him up.

He fiddled with the pumpkin he had carved, it was a round enough to sit perfectly on his lap, just the right shade of orange. Unlike the one he had given Tracy; he used some light miracles on this one to make it perfect.

It felt more meaningful to show Crowley he was capable of using his miracles again, he finally well enough to do simple miracles on his own.

“Well, I just felt…happy? It is so strange, I didn’t even like the holiday before until Tracy,” he paused a moment, “The lovely young woman I have been telling you about. She comes by here daily now, I don’t even think she does it out of pity, I think she genuinely cares. A real friend, I haven’t had a mortal friend in so long, I forgot how lovely it was to have one.”

He paused again taking a deep breath and drumming his fingers against the pumpkin finally setting it down on the nightstand by Crowley and with a snap of his fingers, the candle inside it lit up the room. He smiled, the face wasn’t spooky like the ones he helped Tracy carve for her gathering that evening, but instead a simple and pleasant goofy face. Large smile, one tooth and triangle eyes. It was like the cartoons Crowley used to watch when he thought Aziraphale wasn’t looking. 

“I know you won’t think this is good news but while carving I accidentally gashed my hand.”

Another pause and he chuckled giving a smug look towards Crowley who still had yet to move.

“Not for the reasons I have been…” he gnawed on his lip he couldn’t even admit to Crowley his shameful actions while he was asleep, “It was an accident entirely.”

He stared at his hand with a little smile, it was healed, not perfectly, on better occasions a mortal weapon leaving a flesh wound would have disappeared instantly. He was stronger yes, but not a full strength, just as he had gained weight but his cloths didn’t fit snuggly as they should yet.

There was a faint scar from his healed wound on his palm, but the fact remained, he had healed himself and he was proud of that fact.

“And it healed darling, I’m getting better my dear,” he whispered a sad smile on his face staring longingly at Crowley, “You don’t have to worry so much, dearest. It will all be better, I promise.”

“Just…”

A pause as he gulped, forcing himself to swallow the sob and tears, he shouldn’t be emotional about this, he was trying to be strong and he had to be for Crowley.

“Please come back. Please. I want to give the mortal holidays a try this time, Madame Tracy made me remember how fun it is to partake in these activities, please come back before the next one.”

He placed a gentle kiss on Crowley’s forehead, a hallow of light circling the kiss lighting up Crowley’s red hair, all his love for the demon pressed into the kiss. He took another even breath and went to the bathroom to get dressed. He had promised Tracy he would come to her Halloween séance tonight and he had the perfect costume in mind.

His 16th century French nobleman attire and the masquerade white feathery mask he had only worn once in his Gentleman’s club during the previous Halloween he remembered celebrating over a hundred years ago.

He tucked Crowley’s favorite starry night sky blanket tightly around him, the one that had gotten him threw many dark nights in recent memory and brushed his hair down before leaving to catch his cab.

He sent another likely unheard prayer to Her that Crowley felt his love and would come back to him. Tracy was a miracle in herself but she was no Crowley, his one beacon of hope who had always been there to lead him through the dark.

;

Maybe being at ease was being a tad cocky for Aziraphale, maybe choosing to willingly ignore heaven was seen as a challenge. Whatever the case, Aziraphale had chosen to go back to a semblance of normality and for the first time in months, opened his shop. He was in such a good mood, he had his phonograph playing an upbeat tune as he cleaned, he wasn’t even thinking about all the trauma that had occurred here, he was even foolish enough to be hopeful of Crowley waking up and coming in the door on his own.

He heard the chimes on the door indicating someone had entered, it was really stupid of him in hindsight, he momentarily hoped it was Crowley. He had a small vision in his head of Crowley walking through the door, awake and fresh from his nap and just as at ease as Aziraphale was fooling himself into feeling. He had a skip to his step as he walked from behind a large row of shelves, he imagined himself just throwing himself into Crowley’s arms.

Then his reality shattered his fantasies, they were never meant to last really. All at once his thoughts went right back to wondering if he was even allowed to be happy, was that part of his duty and what his duty actually pertained.

“Aziraphale.”

His entire body began to shake and instinctively he took a step back, hitting against his bookshelf as Gabriel stepped closer to him. He tried to tell himself he was being foolish, Gabriel didn’t appear angry, if anything he seemed concerned. Concerned about Aziraphale and his well being the way he stared at him and tensely held his shoulders, looking almost as afraid as Aziraphale himself. 

“Thank Her you are finally here, we were all so worried about you, Sunshine.”

Aziraphale’s attempt to pull away didn’t seem to deter Gabriel’s touch, he started with a gentle hand on the cheek that forced him to look at his sibling in the eyes and then he felt himself stiffen as he placed his other hand almost intimately on his hip. The hand was firm there and gripped tightly making Aziraphale hoarsely whispered no, but as always, his discomfort went ignored.

“Uriel brought up their concern for you and Michael and I quite agreed, you are very ill. Or…”

The pause was playful juxtaposing the previous concern making every nerve in Aziraphale’s body scream as they tensed harder in his fear and his painfully scrunched tighter shut. He didn’t want to go back to it, he didn’t want to be hurt…he forced himself to say what it was, even if only in his mind, he didn’t want to be raped. Not again, oh not ever.

“Rather you were,” he pressed his fingers uncomfortably closer into Aziraphale’s flesh as he pushed himself closer to him, leaving no space between them, Aziraphale was quite literally trapped there with the shelf pressed against his back.

“Your corporation is healthy,” he whispered against his ear running his thumb along Aziraphale’s cheek gently, it was a loving action. Aziraphale wished it would comfort him instead of making his insides twist the way they did. His hand on his hip crept back and he finally came undone feeling him lightly grope his ass cheek in a way that could only be sexual.

“I cannot!” Aziraphale finally cried out using all his force to shove Gabriel away from him, “Not again…it’s wrong…”

He clung to himself, trying in vain to get himself under control, he clung to the bookshelf behind him bracing himself to stay standing. He refused to kneel for Gabriel anymore. He didn’t have a straight answer of what to do but he wouldn’t do that, not anymore. He cringed bracing himself for the strike.

It didn’t come, Gabriel didn’t hurt him and neither did he respect his space like Crowley or Tracy or even Shadwell would have. He stepped closer and Aziraphale finally broke into tears as he caressed his cheeks and stroked his tears with his thumbs.

“Nothing we have done together was wrong, sunshine,” he said gently, “I do all I do for I love and care for you.”

There was a stretch of silence, the grandfather clocks ticks had never been louder and stroke of fingers had never burned as they did now. Gabriel finally sighed, pulling his hand away at Aziraphale’s sobs and fear.

“We have been talking of you,” he finally said, “What to do with you.”

The problem was always Aziraphale, no matter what it was, the problem was Aziraphale. From man’s fall to souls surviving God’s wrath of the flood to Nero’s madness to Gabriel forcing himself on him, the problem would always be Aziraphale. The equation even those who created galaxies and crafted each star in the sky could not solve. 

“We believe,” there was a pause and each second of silence stabbed at Aziraphale, “Earth is too much for you.”

“What...?”

There was something breaking in him, he knew where this was going and he felt something dying, a new anger rising. There was something not fair about this. The tears stopped flowing and Aziraphale’s breathing increased, his fists tightened into the sides of the bookshelf. The wound he had been previously so proud of himself for healing tore open at this new strong emotion and began to bleed anew, staining the thin spines of books that didn’t deserve such treatment.

“I must talk with the Metatron over this first but we, your siblings, those who love and know you best,” he emphasized this point just making Aziraphale’s heart beat faster and his blood stream harder from his hand, “Agree that you need to be away from this all and with us at all times.”

“It will take time for this to occur, time to make a space just for you to heal and have us close to you at all times without the,” he waved his hand with a look of utter distaste on his face, “temptations to weigh down your soul any longer. You will be safe with us, I promise, no more need to overthink and worry as you have. No need to overwork yourself and run from those who love you most any longer.”

He grabbed Aziraphale’s chin gently yet firmly forcing him to look at him, making Aziraphale let go of the shelf as he defensively grabbed Gabriel’s hands.

“We know what’s best for you, Aziraphale. We know you do not like this choice, but we will continue to do what is best for you. You will thank us in time.”

He glanced down at Aziraphale’s bleeding hand and took it in his hand and brought it up to his eye level examining the bleeding wound. He frowned at it but said nothing, placing his lips upon the wound, tongue sliding across it making Aziraphale cry out attempting to yank his hand away. He felt it tingle as it healed fully before he was able to yank it away from Gabriel and falling hard behind him no longer able to keep himself up.

“I will leave you to rest and think on things,” Gabriel said turning away from him and heading for the door, “When your essence is well enough to return to heaven without your corporation, we shall make arrangements. I will talk to the Metatron but it shouldn’t be a problem, soon enough you will be safe with me, far from sin.”

He paused taking one final glance to Aziraphale as he opened the door.

“You may not like this now, I know, sunshine, but its best for all of us. You will be taken care of personally by me and you might even learn to enjoy our time together.”

Aziraphale broke down the moment he left, clinging tightly to his newly healed hand. It felt wrong, it felt disgusting.

He staggered into the kitchen, his breathing heavy, his heart sinking and his vision blurring. He grabbed a knife from the drawer and dug it deep it his palm, praying for the unclean feel of Gabriel’s miracle to leave his skin and he found his prayer answered for once as a deep red ran from his hand and cleansed the filth Gabriel left.


	30. Loneliness's companion

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A thank you to all who have volunteered to help me clean up the fic! I am very grateful. 
> 
> The fic will likely be in the process of being edited for awhile but I do want to note, I did change some of the details around in chapter 11 and will likely do so again now that I am getting more into Heaven next chapter and am not satisifed with what I had once planned. 
> 
> thank you to everyone who reads this fic!

Shadwell hadn’t slept right since…he couldn’t even answer that simple question, forever it seemed. He couldn’t even begin to describe the odd fears of demons or the dreams he had. The heat of sitting on his sofa, the fear of knowing he still didn’t have the knife. He searched his memories and he couldn’t tell you what knife he had lost and needed so desperately to get back.

He hadn’t left his home in days, had stayed by the door, that fear gripping hm, the fear that the demon would come back. He hadn’t meant to fall asleep; it had just happened.

He was in the southern pansy’s book shop, the one who always greeted him with kindness and its maddened Shadwell how well he tolerated the man. The shop was strangely vacant despite it being in the middle of the afternoon on a weekday, there were usually at least one or two stragglers here.

Mrs. Doyle had sent him over with biscuits for the wanker, in his usual manner, Shadwell ate half before entering the shop and had tossed the other half on the front display of books on entering. He heard a ruckus from the back of the room, he frowned moving towards it.

The lights were off, and the place looked less inviting than ever. He frowned at the noises, it wasn’t unlike the noises he heard from the Gentleman the woman across the hall seduced. Similar, he noted firmly, but not the same. Raspy breaths, grunting and slapping of flesh, those weren’t uncommon things Shadwell heard. It was the strange pitch to the rasps and grunts, like they would become full on sobs any moment.

“Aziraphale,” he heard someone firmly hissed through a grunt. He knew that voice, it was the Coven leader, the one always giving him disapproving once overs with his eyes before he entered the shop. The blasted yank who looked down on him like he was the foul smell in the air, the one with no dignity here, as if Shadwell had sold his soul to the devil.

“Tell me no. Fight back.”

Shadwell had enough hearing Fell’s whimpers; an injustice was just that even if it was a witch suffering. He smacked into one of Fell’s blasted books on his way into the room, sending them plummeting to the ground and him along with them. 

When he righted himself and fumbled to his feet into the room, he rather wished he hadn’t.

The coven leader was rutting into Fell holding him down on the floor while the witch, just let him. He was a whimpering and terrified mess as the great brute of a man forced himself out of him roughly and gave Fell a disgusted look as he righted himself.

Shadwell was in just enough shock to not make a peep about the blatant witchcraft done before his eyes, one snap and the two men were fully clothed once more. 

“I’ll let you take care of erasing the memories on this one or don’t.” 

The pompous brute straightened his tie and gave Shadwell a disapproving once over before turning a threatening look to Fell. Fell winced and cringed back at the look making Shadwell jump to action. 

“Ya listen here!” he began coming out of his shock, “This one may be a disgusting witch but ya can’t go doing that to ‘im!”

“Shadwell calm down.” 

Fell kept his distance from Shadwell, not seeming too keen at the prospect of him touching him but his look stopped him from charging the other man. He awkwardly wrapped his arms around himself and put his head down in shame as Shadwell’s stare bore into him. 

“That man were forcing himself on yer person!” Shadwell spat in Fell’s face trying to get him to see reason in the matter. Demanding he do something about it instead of just standing there, he wanted the fool to act. Act upset at the least! It wasn’t right to just accept your fait about something like this! 

“I know and I thank you for the concern, but it is unneeded.” 

Shadwell snarled grabbing Fell by his shoulders and giving him a hard shake, trying to shake some sense into this fool. There was just an empty look to Fell, an acceptance to abuse, it didn’t belong on a stubborn bastard like Fell. This was the same bastard who had threatened to wallop him with an umbrella several times over petty mishaps yet he stood here and let some yank force himself in him like that! 

“You listen and you listen damn good!” Shadwell spat shaking the man harder, “If that demon be seducing ya like that, yer gonna let me kill ‘em if ya ain’t even gonna defend yerself!” 

Fell’s face was hard and that petty bastard he knew well was emerging somewhere from the depths of this dead eyed thing he had become. He shoved Shadwell away from him and took a step back, distancing them. 

“I thank you,” he stated firmly in a voice that wouldn’t be argued with, “Really, Shadwell, I do, but this matter hardly concerns you. I would rather you just forget it ever happened.” 

And he had.

;

“Mista Shadwell!”

He sneered as that daft whore of Babylon pounded at his door once more, always trying to force herself into his business. He didn’t rise from the couch, shaking hands rolling another cigarette.

Demons, witches, shadows of the unknown, knives that held importance none of these seemed particularly strange things for Shadwell to be wrapped up in. He had been wrapped up in them since Narker had begun spilling his gospel to him in that cell nearly ten years ago now, but it was how he was wrapped up in them. They weren’t just demons that lurked in the shadows, they were strangely human demons that loved witches. It wasn’t just some witch hiding away luring babes from mothers and brewing poison to force feed week men, it was a kind and gentle man who called Shadwell their friend and once forced him to go all the way to France with him for an afternoon just to have crepes. It was a witch being sexually abused by his coven of witches and the demon who owned their souls trying to get Shadwell to restore order. It was a knife to restore that order Shadwell had lost along the way and didn’t even know he lost.

“Mista Shadwell! I really want ya to come out and join ma seance tonight! I think it’ll be good fer ya to come out of yer room!” 

Shadwell didn’t reply, bloody witch turned to her dark lords, he weren’t blind, he saw the witch. Fell. That’s what Fell had to be, a witch who was preying on his soul, trying to make him feel sympathy for him while he did so. Mista Crowley was a demon clear as day, leading him astray, like Tracy was trying to. The yank, the yank might be another demon for all he knew. 

The magic that had clung to his soul, his reality that had once been bent by the ethereal and the occult was righting itself. Each memory revealing itself as the magic that bound him washed away as both Aziraphale and Crowley’s magic swayed.

He remembered his agreement with Crowley and how it lead him to Fell and the brain damage the pansy gave him.

He felt his fists tightening, he didn’t understand how to deal with these feelings, the anger or the strange sympathy. He chose not to deal with any of it. Let it bubble in him until it exploded and it would explode soon enough.

;

Aziraphale hadn’t left Crowley’s apartment since his encounter with Gabriel, he wasn’t afraid that was undercutting this emotion. He knew every tongue humanity had ever spoken, he had books upon books on diction and how to properly express words, yet he couldn’t find what would properly describe this emotion.

It was knowing you were trapped, realizing you had been for a very long time and finally coming to the realization you had no control of it. You were alone in this fight and always had been. The understanding that no matter how hard you would have tried; your family would never have loved you and they rather liked hurting you. They wanted to continue to hurt you, but more discreetly to not get themselves in trouble for it.

It was a low blow, the kind of strike that wouldn’t be permitted in professional fighting arenas, the kind of blow that left you crippled. Knowing your siblings had hated you since creation and found more enjoyment out of your suffrage then your happiness. 

He wasn’t literally crippled, but he was emotionally and mentally so, it might as well have been physically as well. Aziraphale had fell to the floor sobbing days ago mere feet from Crowley’s bed and hadn’t been able to move an inch since. 

“Please,” he begged cupping his hands together, eyes scrunched tightly shut, “I don’t want to fall…oh I don’t want to fall…I can’t handle this anymore. Please…”

“Mother, please, give your son wisdom, you are the only one who can.”

There was nothing but silence as usual.

;

It started with the feathers.

Under his care with Tracy, he had been able begun re-growing the feathers his sibling had yanked out. They weren’t full or fluffy as they had once been, and it wasn’t likely he would catch flight with his meager progress, but a fine fuzz of feathers was coming back. Whereas his wings had previously looked like hollowed skin, scarred and bruised and painful they were becoming a soft white of peach fuzz. 

It took days of digging his nails in, pulling and plucking and gnawing to get rid of the progress.

He had a cheap and strong (not to mention disgusting) bottle of wine open, taking a large gulp every few seconds to let the pain die down. He sat on the tiles in the bathroom that were staining a gold red that would likely never come up and he found himself ok with that. Crowley had to understand this was necessary, it wasn’t breaking a promise at all, it was avoiding a problem. Stalling for time really, hoping beyond hoping Crowley would be awake before this healed again, and he was forced away by his siblings. 

He was feeling bold tonight, he didn’t lock the bathroom door, he didn’t even close it. The bed was facing the bathroom in such a way that if Crowley were to wake right at this moment, he would get a good view of Aziraphale breaking his promise.

“Now, don’t think of it like that,” he mumbled to himself taking a long swig from the bottle before taking a handful of feathers and yanking so hard blood began to bubble and fizzle a milky color. He hissed, that couldn’t be good, maybe infection? He wasn’t aware angels could get infections; he wasn’t aware of a lot of things angels were capable of. He didn’t know enough about his own species and that pained him more then the aches from his wings.

“I know this is doing damage, I know I promised to get better not worse but…”

He grits his teeth digging in harder to yank out the fuzz of his wings.

“I can’t, Crowley,” he cried out, his cry echoing across the tiles of the empty bathroom before his voice became soft, “I’m sorry, I just can not go back to being that. I do not want to be Gabriel’s pet.”

He fell to the ground and let his damaged wings cover him, sobbing until reality faded and fell into the blackness of his own mind.

; 

Shadwell remembered where Mista Crowley lived, it came back to him like everything came back to him. He didn’t get lost this time, maybe the bastard would be proud he was on time, but he didn’t care. He was here for the express purpose of ridding the world of two evils tonight.

Crowley and his demon.

Didn’t matter if Fell were the witch and Crowley the demon, or the other way around, he didn’t even know why he spent so much time debating it with himself. Evil was evil and it didn’t matter that he knew Fell had a normal amount of nipples, that was just a ploy. He was playing on his empathy and expecting pity; all to lure him in.

Breaking and entering was an old skill, one he wasn’t as well versed in as he had once been but he knew perfectly well how to do it.

Upscale neighborhood in a penthouse meant getting passed security that wasn’t expecting you and getting passed nosy neighbors.

Shadwell didn’t belong in this place and that was certain, but inexplicably the doorman just gave him a glance as he walked in and no neighbor glanced his way. IT must have been the work of the witches who worked here, somehow, it just was. Maybe it only became so convenient because Shadwell believed with all his heart and his soul it would and his soul belonged to the demon who lived here.

;

Not many could say they remembered their own birth, but angels weren’t born, they were created the way the almighty needed them to be. Except of course, Aziraphale. He was created without purpose. He wasn’t created to craft or fight or lead, he was a present. A present to help humanity and to help his siblings. He was created from the start to be used.

He was created in his mother’s palm, held tight like a tiny wounded bird, he had a vague pain travelling through him as well giving more truth to that analogy.

“All is fine, my child,” the voice above him said gently, he peered into the blinding light trying to find a face to match with the gentle voice and found none. He curled into himself nervously glancing towards the fingers caged around him, glancing down at his own much smaller hands he realized they were the same.

He attempted to ask who the being was holding him or even what he was but the words faltered. Something told him to tread on thin ice in the presence and he did. Though, once more he had to question why he would think of it that way or even what his analogy even meant.

He yelped feeling a finger gently running across his back, unwinding his taunt nerves and relaxing him to the being holding him.

“I am your mother, my darling and I would never allow you to feel pain.”

He tilted his head up towards a winding strands of galaxy that joined together and flowed like hair, masking the face of his mother who spoke to him. Her large thumb gently touched the side of his head and soothingly petted it, feeling Aziraphale with his first sensation of love and warmth. She loved him and She would protect him. Those were things he simply understood.

He tightly hugged the thumb that had petted him and never wanted to let go. This was his mother and She loved him. She would never allow anything to hurt him and no one could love him as much as She did.

“You are the final of my angels, my beloved Aziraphale.”

Aziraphale beamed as She told him of his siblings and how she would hand him over to them.

“Will my siblings love me like you love me?”

Aziraphale was nervous, he never wished to leave his mother, he wanted to stay close to her for all time. He clung to her tightly and begged for her to give him more time before She would set him down into an unknown world. Set him down into the Garden where he would meet his brother Gabriel who would help him understand his role.

“They shall, for they need you, Aziraphale. You must promise to take care of and love your siblings like they will love you in turn.”

“I will, Mother,” he promised fear still clinging to him, something in him told him not to return there, it wanted to stay with Mother. It wanted peace and rest.

“They will be hard on you, but it is only for they know what is best and you must always follow them. They know best, my darling, they will protect you always and you must never doubt them or their love for you.”

“I won’t, Mother, I promise to love them and never ever doubt them!”

;

Aziraphale woke up screaming and didn’t stop screaming until it could no longer be called so. It started as an indigenous primal cry, a desperate wail that contained six thousand years’ worth of anger and frustrations for being ignored, berated, manipulated, unloved and abused. The noise died with his all too human voice box turning into hoarse wheezes.

He wheezed on the kitchen floor where he had passed out the night before, he had no tears left to cry. He felt dry and used up, maybe there was nothing left now. There had once been a lot in the angel Aziraphale, he had once been born in the garden and gifted to the archangels to guide as he did his best to protect the humans, he had once been full of life and wonder. He once overflowed with love, that he knew. He had known love with Eve, he fell in love with the demon who stood beside him on the wall, he had thought he had known love with his siblings.

Was this falling? Was this horrid emptiness what falling was? Had he been falling since the moment he gave away his sword? Perhaps since he was slow as they all assumed he was, he had a delayed response to falling.

He knew he should feel terror, yet he couldn’t bring it forth anymore, he instead let his wings manifest. He ran a finger over the tender flesh, bare and damaged a reflection of his soul. 

He heard the front door being forced open, but he didn’t have the energy to pick himself from the ground. He couldn’t find the will to care someone else was forcing their way in here. He was drained, defeated and wanted the thing all scared creatures wanted most, their mothers. He wanted his mother. He didn’t just want an all-knowing being, he wanted his mother to hold him in Her palm as she did six thousand years ago and explain to him what he should do. Comfort him even if he didn’t deserve it. Only She could tell him what was right and wrong, if she said Gabriel was holy, he would believe only her.

“I knew ye was a demon!”

Aziraphale felt as though he should have some retort to the accusation, maybe he should muster up an ounce of offense but didn’t find the energy for that. Instead he opted to ignore it all together, just as he had been ignoring everything else for over six thousand years.

He didn’t see the point of hiding his abused wings nor his state of despair, he was tired of hiding, putting on false faces and attempting to right things. The fact of the matter was, there was no righting any of this. Gabriel had done things to him, horrible things and his mother likely allowed it. How could she not know? The hopelessness of it all had driven his Crowley into such a deep depression, there was simply no waking him. What did it matter if a witch hunter thought? What did any of it matter? 

“If you are here to slay me,” he stated turning dead eyes towards Shadwell who was already sinking away from him. Taking the coward’s way out, deciding to just leave because he didn’t want to deal with the problem that was Aziraphale either. No one ever wanted to deal with the problem that was Aziraphale. He clenched his teeth and the lightbulbs hanging around Crowley’s immaculate kitchen shattered leaving them in the darkness. Every dish Aziraphale had become too tired to wash cracked on the verge of exploding as well as a low pulse of power sparked from the anger, a last hurrah for Aziraphale. He was growing weaker due to his self-destruction and once he was forced back to heaven, he would likely never feel this kind of spark again. He would never feel anything again.

“I suggest you do so accurately!”

Maybe a year prior it would have been a proper threat, it would have been a much better threat a hundred years ago, but now it was almost a pitiful whine. It was a plea. He let his wings wrap around him, cocooning himself. He began to pick at the scabs and let the blood flow freely.

He reached into his robe and pulled the knife out, he had been holding it for days, contemplating just getting it over with himself. He tossed it towards Shadwell refusing to look towards him directly.

“Seven stabs right here,” he made an X with his fingers and proceeded to circle right above his ribcage, not his human heart but the center of his essence, his true heart, as Shadwell just squinted towards him in the darkness.

“It won’t be as quick or clean as Hellfire, but it will do.”

When Shadwell continued to just stand there, Aziraphale finally grew frustrated enough to force himself off the ground, shoving the knife into Shadwell’s palm and forcing him to hold it.

“You came to kill me, did you not? You remembered I gave you brain damage, did you not?”

Shadwell continued to stand there staring dumbly at him and he snarled grabbing onto his shirt and glaring at him in the darkness. He barely made out his expression but it stood out in his imagination as mocking and cruel instead of confused and scared. He slapped the man making him snarl in frustration.

“Do it!” He spat smacking him again harder and still Shadwell didn’t move.

“End it! Please! I’m begging you!”

He finally felt the tears falling, he didn’t know what to do. He just wanted it all to stop. He didn’t want to hurt anymore.

“I can’t…I can’t anymore…just do it..”

Shadwell didn’t, just sank to the floor with the angel and awkwardly patted his curls, not used to comforting people and felt it in his soul. It was wrong to kill Fell, demon or witch, he couldn’t kill him when he wanted it this badly. 

Aziraphale bunched his fists into Shadwell’s coat and shook him harder and harder until his strength gave out and he just fell against him.

Aziraphale sobbed and begged for death until he couldn’t any longer and Shadwell stayed silent the entire time at a loss of what to do.

;

It was three in the morning on a beautiful Friday and for once, Madame Tracy was fast asleep. Her client for the evening had chickened out once she pulled out the pink handcuffs and had said he just wanted to go back to his wife instead of submitting to a stranger.

It was one of those crossroad situations where she didn’t know whether she should be angry she was stiffed thus losing rent money or if she should be happy a little cold feet saved a marriage. 

After a nice glass of brandy and a lovely novel about a young woman with her twenty suitors and the bedroom games they played, she had fallen asleep sound in her bed. She was rather rudely woken by the phone ringing. It wasn’t just the one ring that woke her that morning but the repeated ringing and ringing of the hallway phone blaring through the paper-thin walls.

She didn’t bother hunting her robe down and stormed into the hall wearing nothing but her lingerie she had decided not to change out of. She picked up the phone and snarled a hello into the receiver, fully intending to give any gentleman seeking her service or Shadwell’s a piece of her mind calling at this hour.

“Don’t ye go snipping at me, woman!”

She went from anger to concern in a matter of seconds hearing Mister Shadwell on the other line, a bubble of fear was brewing, he had to be in trouble to be calling like this.

“Are you alright, Mister Shadwell?”

“Yes!” he spat before instantly taking back that answer and sighing out, “No.”

“Fell won’t stop blubbering and I don’t know what to do!”

“Excuse me…?”

“Just bloody get down ‘ere, woman! He trusts ya and this is just wrong, even bloody demons shouldn’t cry this damned much…”

He hung up on her without further introductions but she knew he had to be at Mr. Fell’s business man’s penthouse. She didn’t know the why or how or again, why, but she knew it was bad and was terrified to find out.


	31. Intermission: The Metatron

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm hella tired tonight but decided to post this anyway. I'll respond to the reviews from last chapter soon! Thank you all <3

The Metatron was impartial towards all of God’s creations, they as an entity, did not feel personal connection towards any of them. The angels didn’t often put themselves on the same footing as mortals, but they weren’t too different in Her ineffable plan. 

In theory, archangels and principalities shouldn’t be valued above the other as Kings of men shouldn’t be valued above humble beggars. They all had a purpose in Her ineffable plan and all fit into a place.

Aziraphale, though, was very easily lead astray from the flock. Since the beginning, he had a curiosity to him that the Metatron had never seen in angels. Not proper angels anyway, they would have assumed the last angel created by Her wouldn’t carry traits they had only seen in the fallen.

He must have a purpose, Metatron was certain he did, but it had yet to show itself. Principalities were supposed to be leaders but that had yet to show itself in an angel that followed the flock to sin rather then asserted the lord’s law and forced the mortals back to Her.

Maybe it had something to do with his creation, he wasn’t made like a proper angel, he was made specifically for Her favored Archangels. The angels who cried and wallowed in grief for their sibling who had been led astray by the rebellion. The archangel Raphael, who had been bled dry and whose essence became starlight after Sandalphon had gone too far in bleeding him. His mother had given him forgiveness in another form, taking what remained of him and crafting the angel Raphael into a new life, one she had told them would be less driven to sin. A life that would be compassionate and loving and pure, one for healing.

From the ashes of Raphael, she had created Aziraphale and gifted him to humanity and her archangels in the garden. She left no instruction of what his purpose was, only the archangels were to care for him and Aziraphale in turn would care for them.

The Metatron was no stranger to impossible tasks as their one purpose was to act as Her eyes and ears, keeping track of every single prayer and only transferring the important ones directly to Her. Yet, young Aziraphale felt hopeless. Many assumed Raphael’s bad traits had only made themselves present in him and that was the problem. He was an angel without explicit purpose, one not perfectly written into the ineffable plan they all followed and the archangels were forced to craft him into it by force.

The Metatron kept track of every soul and that included the Heavenly ones. They worked hard to sort and file every single one, their subsection of Heaven was filled with Guardians; lower level angels too weak to encompass human like corporations and instead found themselves in smaller easier to handle ones mainly doves in The Metatron’s domain. 

The guardians only purpose was to file and sort and watch. Every deed they transcribed was always submitted to the Metatron who would approve or deny each prayer, each sin, each action and each miracle. They had millions of memos sent to Death each day regarding what souls went up and what souls went down. His Guardians fought over who was in charge of visiting bellow for Hell’s records, each feared the demons who weren’t often kind to them, but they were always more afraid of their superior’s punishments if things didn’t continue to run smoothly.

The Metatron pitied poor Michael, who was almost as overworked as they, running in and out of their dominion keeping track of Aziraphale and the messes he made. Michael often put Gabriel in charge of their younger sibling and Gabriel grew to his wits end quickly.

“How does an angel Fall?”

Every Guardian in their dominion had paused as at the archangel’s query, wings stiffening and their extra eyes popping forth at the very implantation. Each fearing Gabriel would point to them and with a snap, they would fall. All eyes on the Metatron, who had paused in their work as well, begging their superior for forgiveness all at once. They waved their hand towards their underlings to get back to work, in the old days, such actions would have got the lot of them a trip to Sandalphon for such disruption of business, but She had a softer hand these days. 

“It must be submitted for approval of Her,” The Metatron stated rising from behind their desk and setting their quill on parchment, “Only She may decide who is unworthy of Her kingdom. I must warn though, our Mother isn’t always in office, She becomes harder to reach with each passing century.”

“I shall take my chances,” Gabriel stated haughtily glaring towards a guardian who instantly bowed their head respectively to their superior rather then gawking as they had.

Many memos were submitted about Aziraphale and all were denied. It was the fastest the Metatron had got into contact with Her since the great flood. If they allowed themselves such foolish emotions, they would be jealous She set aside such time for a mistake as Aziraphale.

;

Bleeding for forgiveness was not a common practice anymore, it wasn’t exactly outlawed or forbidden but it was a thing they had to be cautious about. Lucifer was able to manipulate so many due to their outrage on the practice, how they dared question what was right. Questions were bad things to have, they were messy and lead to problems. It was easier to just dispose of the practice rather then let the Guardians and foot soldiers and black smiths whisper to themselves whether or not punishment for their misgivings was Just.

The Metatron paused in their work one day, stopped mid sentencing a priest for falling astray with a demon, halting their important memo on misconduct they would have sent down and ruining the order they had.

A guardian had landed on his desk, dropping a parchment before them, feathers standing on end at their nervousness. Multiple eyes were breaking forth across feathers as their true form peaked out due to fear. 

“What is it?”

They knew better than to stall, they had no time for delays here, yet they had. The Metatron decided they would be punished and decided a weeks’ worth of delivering memos to bellow with attached notice they were allowed to do what they saw fit with the underling was in order. The guardian shook terribly sensing that decision yet they still wasted time, staring in horror at their superior before finally getting to the point when it was decided they would be delivering to Hell’s offices until the next century.

“Sandalphon has bled Aziraphale.”

The Metatron finally saw this as important snatching the new memo up and demanded the Guardians stay on track while they went to see Michael.

It was 1862 when Metatron first paused in their business and left their dominion for the first time in three thousand years. They went to the office that dealt with all things connected to Earth and the cosmos around it, the dominion the archangels ran. 

They passed by several anxious looking low-level warriors, it seemed they were rough housing in the office space and were caught by their better, but they weren’t here to bother with that. They did make note of soldiers playing with training equipment while they should have been keeping order, they would complain to Michael of that later. 

The door to Michael’s office was wise enough to open for them, there would be consequences otherwise it knew.

“Hello, my lord.”

The Metatron nodded curtly to Michael’s greeting, it was sufficient enough and they took the offered seat that slid out on its own.

“What is being done to Aziraphale?”

The Metatron wasn’t one to play coy, they had important work as Michael had important work that needed to be done. The matter at hand would be dealt with in a few words and they would get back to running the cosmos.

“We grow concerned for our youngest sibling going astray and this seems to be the only way of keeping him in line.”

“Why did you not ask permission on the matter first?”

“We have tried everything with Aziraphale as you have seen and yet he continues to disappoint. We do not wish to kill our sibling, we only wish for him to shape up. We will take precautions, if it becomes a trend Gabriel can not handle, we will come to you to find him placement here while we correct the problem under your watchful eye.”

The Metatron thought about it and finally sighed, more important matters were at hand, he would let this be a family matter for now and said as much. Only if things grew worse would they intervene once more.

;

As the years passed on, a new file was created specifically for Aziraphale. The Metatron trusted Michael and could only hope they knew what they were doing, could only hope they could keep a handle on their brothers.

There were murmurs among the lower level angels in their department each year, it was more annoying than troublesome they wasted so much time debating Gabriel’s actions. Guardians had no right to judge Archangels, they had no real right looking at the prayers of Principalities yet Aziraphale was a special case. Most Principalities had found their place with the mortals, they led with example and virtue, but the youngest of the angels, never knew his place. Some looked on his prayers with pity and murmured to one another about asking the Metatron to contact God Herself, others like the Metatron, knew She would have already stepped in if this was not Just. 

Gabriel had always been favored by Her; he had been hand chosen to oversee the birth of her child. Gabriel knew best, if he wished to enter a sexual relation with his younger brother, that was his business. It wasn’t sinful and it wasn’t as if angels in this very department didn’t do this as well when The Metatron turned his back. He knew quite well of hundreds of soldiers who had disrupted enough business to ‘experiment’ with their corporations in the room of hour glasses. It was a nightmare to sort out a few issues of mortal hour glasses being tipped over, taking away time for those who still had duty on Earth and giving time to sinful souls who won victories for downstairs. 

It got messier when human souls joined their ranks, Michael was very clever to add in ‘break rooms’ and superficial ‘supply closets’ to keep the experimentations out of public view and away from delicate order.

The Metatron had only stepped in once in 1976 when Gabriel without permission once more bled his younger brother weakening his essence and corporation.

He set up a meeting with the angel in his office to keep his subordinates from eavesdropping.

“Good afternoon, my lord.”

Gabriel wore a bright smile and bowed to his better, offering his hand to shake but they did not take his offer just nodding to him taking a seat in front of his desk.

“Gabriel, I have been avoiding this, but I can not turn a blind eye any longer.” 

There was an ounce of fear on Gabriel’s face at that, he knew he had once more done wrong. The Metatron was impartial to everyone, punishing his youngest sibling was fine, but killing him was treason. 

“You have bled your sibling.” 

“Yes, my lord.” 

“Michael had promised it would be reported and monitored if you wished to take such extreme actions once more with him.” 

“Yes, my lord.” 

Gabriel’s guilt was worn tightly on his face, making his features tightened and sweat to trickle. It was odd seeing him like this, the Metatron had never known Gabriel to be nervous, that was something he had only ever seen from his sibling. He had only seen Aziraphale act as such, act poorly and weekly when being reprimanded. 

“Well, what is your excuse? My ruling wasn’t unreasonable to your sibling. I have let you do as you wish to your sibling otherwise, but you know how bleeding caused the death of Raphael. The lord shall not be happy to find out she took the remains to craft you a present only to know you destroyed him in the same manner.” 

Gabriel remained quiet a moment before he spoke up. 

“Aziraphale was my gift from her and he has been fornicating with mortals.” 

The Metatron considered this a moment, Aziraphale allowing mortals to touch him in that matter was a sin unlike doing so with his sibling. Mortals were beneath them, only a demon would want such attention from them. 

“I shall let it pass once more,” the Metatron sighed not wanting to go through the nightmare that was filing sins, he had enough on his plate, “But you are not to bleed your sibling any longer. If you must, bring him here to recuperate and be reminded of his role but do not kill your sibling. He is highly favored to Her and his death would lead to your fall and none of us want that.” 

He left without another word, he would have Michael clean this up later, it was their duty. They needed to be responsible for Gabriel and Aziraphale. The last thing they wanted was two angels to fall. 

Two years later the lord would speak upon the Metatron for the first time in two thousand years and demand they bring both Aziraphale and Gabriel to Her.


	32. Belief

Marjorie Potts (better known as Madame Tracy now) had a rough start and a questionable relation when it came to the Church, but she always thought she did alright. Always a bit obsessed with the occult and always in trouble for it, but she had always found that interest to be well in the realm of fantasy. Well, she had, she had so desperately tried to think of the afterlife and the creatures of heaven and hell as no more real than the American legends of Geronimo.

That is of course until Shadwell put her on the slippery slope and that slope slid past a demon and smacked her into an angel who she ironically found herself the guardian of. 

Her world had never been what most call normal, it started with her father who beat her mum and preached to them about the Lord and what he wanted of them. At fifteen, she had just left and decided to rebel against those views. She wasn’t gonna believe in heaven or angels or the lord or any church that would allow a man like that.

What a world, seventeen years later, she would find out Heaven was just as abusive as her teenage mind had once imagined it to be. 

She got some odd looks from her cab driver; she didn’t bother getting properly dressed before calling her cab and packing her things quickly correctly assuming she would be staying with Shadwell at the penthouse while whatever was going on with Fell was sorted out. 

;

Aziraphale was sitting straight on one side of the couch and Shadwell mirrored him on the other side. The TV just as white noise to keep them from drowning in the silence. The news was on, a lovely young woman was telling them about the weather forecast and assumed they would be going to work as she moved to telling them about the traffic on the M25.

Aziraphale didn’t plan on moving from this spot and it was clear Shadwell was as stubborn as he, also refusing to move from the spot he was planted in. Aziraphale side glanced over at Shadwell and noticed the man doing the same before they both instantly turned away from each other, both simmering in shame at the situation they were in. A mortal, a self-proclaimed witch hunter for that matter, had seen such an intimate part of him. He had seen his abused, broken and naked wings.

Aziraphale wrapped his arms around himself and pushed himself farther in his corner of the couch, it felt wrong to watch television with this man. This was an activity for him and Crowley or just something he did alone. He was supposed to break like he had alone, not in full view of mortals. His teeth ground together, and his fingers tightened into his tattered robe, stupid stupid stupid.

This was exactly why the problem was always Aziraphale.

A knock at the door finally broke the spell they were under and Aziraphale was surprised to find that he wasn’t the one who got up to get the door but Shadwell. He had never seen the man be so polite about anything. Even while at his place of business, he made poor Mrs. Doyle deal with most of the customers.

Aziraphale was in the midst of falling into a trap of anxieties once more about how what he always considered being ineffable, Shadwell entering his life leading him to the knife, were simply Crowley playing his own game. He didn’t want to be frustrated with Crowley; he was truly one of the few who considered Aziraphale as a sentient creature, but he couldn’t help it. Even Crowley felt he was so incompetent he simply couldn’t talk to him, he had to scheme behind his back to get answers and solve the problem on his own without ever considering Aziraphale’s feelings valid. 

He didn’t notice the conversation between the newly arrived Madame Tracy and Shadwell arguing in the hallway between the front door and living room. His mind was lost in how he begged Crowley not to kill Gabriel, begged him not to risk it and no matter how valiant an effort it was, he still was going to go through with his schemes. He felt the tears falling once more at the thought. 

“Here love,” he glanced up and attempted to smile in thanks at the Kleenex Madame Tracy was offering him taking a seat next to him on the couch.

“Shadwell and I been talking about what happened…”

Aziraphale couldn’t look at her, he just turned his attention back to the Telly. The reporter was doing a segment on local dinners, the beans and toast she was eating looked scrumptious. He truly wished he was there enjoying the plate rather than dealing with his grim reality.

“Not much to talk on, really.”

Shadwell snorted at the statement and effectively called him a liar without saying much but it was the truth in its own way. Whatever they had seen did not matter for they simply could not help, and they likely wouldn’t understand it.

“I know this is hard, love, but we just want to help, don’t we, Mista Shadwell?”

Another snort from Shadwell who had begun rolling a cigarette, Aziraphale didn’t have the energy to demand he do it outside. He had made quite the mess already of poor Crowley’s flat.

“And we wish to help you because---”

“You care? You love me possibly?” Aziraphale interrupted sighing and rising from his spot on the couch, “I’m sorry, dear, but you barely know me, and I am truly sorry for getting you involved as much as I have. It was wrong of me.” 

He shut down Shadwell as soon as he got up to put him in his place, Aziraphale was weak, he was cowardly and he was God’s biggest mistake but the day obeyed a mortal was the day he threw in the towel and walked into Hellfire.

“And feeling a bit of guilt remembering you watched me being raped by my own sibling doesn’t quite count as love, sergeant.”

Both mortals stiffened at what he referred to Gabriel as, siblings were different for angels then mortals, but it didn’t make it less true. Aziraphale had always thought of Gabriel as his elder brother, that had always been his relation to him. 

“Neither are obligated to clean up my messes or me,” he said straightening his back and forcing himself to keep moving. 

He just walked into the bedroom after that and locked the door behind him. He sank to the ground and wrapped his arms tightly around his knees. Burying his head there and taking deep gasping breaths to keep himself from crying again. He did enough of that now. 

; 

(one year ago)

Madame Tracy was rather worried about Shadwell not making it home and had taken a detour on her usual route to his new place of business. Mrs. Doyle’s flower shop was in a lovely little neighborhood, right next door to A.Z Fell and Co antique book shop. She stared at the book shop a moment trying to wrap her head around who the ‘Co’ was. In all the years of living in Soho, she had yet to meet anyone else in the book shop. There was a Bentley parked in front of the shop somedays, maybe that’s who it was. 

She cared for Shadwell, truly she did, but she felt sorry Mrs. Doyle had to deal with him. He was a terrible employee; his little fake army was the best choice of employment for a man as stubborn as him. If he could get paid for pretending to hunt witches, he would be the richest man alive and wouldn’t have to live off welfare to get by.

She, like everyone around him, knew he had to suffer from some mental problems and didn’t have the means to get help for it. Tracy found him rather charming when you got to know him, he has a soft side, it was just buried under a nasty layer of grime.

She spotted poor Mrs. Doyle having trouble getting up broken pots (that Shadwell no doubt left her) and wordlessly began helping the woman clean up. Quite the pair the two made, Mrs. Doyle was very conserative with her dress that concealed everything and Madame Tracy who embraced her sexuality openly, nothing about her tight pink dress leaving anything to the imagination. Tracy knew a woman like Mrs. Doyle didn’t approve of her dress but today she didn’t even give her outfit a disappointed look over. 

“Thank you love,” the old woman said as Tracy helped her sit down on one of the lawn chairs scattered around the store.

“My pleasure love,” she said picking up a push broom that had been shoved in the corner and began cleaning up for the woman, “Came lookin’ for Shadwell to make sure he’s alright.”

“He’s perfect,” Mrs. Doyle beamed at him resting her old withered hands on her lap and slipping off her old wedding ring causing her swelling hand grievous, “Lovely man, always happy to help.”

Tracy smiled but knew the old woman just wanted company, if not, well Shadwell would already be fired for leaving her alone like this.

“He went with Mr. Fell today for lunch.” 

Tracy took a glance at the clock, it was barely nine in the morning. It was hardly even tea time. 

“And yer happy to have him do that instead of helping out?”

Mrs. Doyle seemed taken aback by that, giving her a perplexed stare.

“Course, just my way of paying Fell back after all he’s done sending someone to help him in his time of need.”

It was Tracy’s turn to give her a strange stare.

“You may not believe it, but him and his shop have been here since I was a little girl,” she started glancing at one of her flowerpots wistfully, “My father owned this shop before me and his father before that. And Fell has been here the entire time, never aging and never changing, bringing all kinds of luck along with him.” 

She paused and Tracy bent by the older woman taking her hand gently, not liking the pained look on the older woman’s face. She wouldn’t leave until she knew this lovely woman was alright. 

“My father nearly died when I was a child, almost went my life without a father, but one visit from Fell and he was healed when no doctor could do the same for him. I got to have my father with me until he died ten years ago, my father was only at my wedding because of Fell.” 

Her hand tightened around Tracy’s and the pain travelled through her and she now held a content look.

“He has been giving everyone in this little neighborhood miracles from his shop. My father called him an angel and I have never argued with that assumption, what else could he be?” 

Tracy wasn’t sure of that but wasn’t about to argue with the older woman. Everyone had those little things they believed in, who was she to demand they change their tune for her sake? Let people have their fantasies and not just the silly ones that made her a small fortune. 

“It’s been hard watching him wilt, I have seen it my entire life, he has always gone through highs and lows but he seems to be fading now. It worries me to see him that way, if Shadwell can’t help him bounce back, well, it’s better than him here breaking my flower pots.” 

Madame Tracy wasn’t sure if she believed any of Mrs. Doyle’s story but the more she found herself watching Fell, the more she could at least concur that something was wrong with him. His weight was always dropping and rising at the drop of a hat, he could go from his merry self to someone who looked ready for the end to come. 

It was only in Tracy’s nature to want to reach out to someone in such pain.

; 

“Crowley…”

There was no response but maybe at this point, Aziraphale didn’t expect one anymore.

“I love you and think I always have,” he placed a gentle kiss on the demon’s cheek before lying his head back down on his still chest, “I fear I will be leaving soon, in one way or another and if it's either death or being forced back to Heaven, well you won’t see me again darling.”

Two days passed and Aziraphale was frustrated to learn Shadwell hadn’t left. He could hear him fumbling around Crowley’s living room, digging through the kitchen and cursing about the lack of liquor in the minibar. He about drove Aziraphale mad the way he turned up Crowley’s record player, playing so loudly it vibrated the thick walls and made the angel curl into himself in distress on more than one occasion. 

“Mista Shadwell!” he felt guilt bubbling in him, he hated how he was taking up this poor woman’s time.

“You really ought to clean up yer mess love, we are here to help Mr. Fell, not stress him out more makin’ a mess.”

“Don’t ya come ‘ere bossing me around woman! I invited ya to make Fell come out of hiding and explain his damn self and ya ain’t done that!”

An exasperated sigh and clanking of heels across tile. Aziraphale curled tighter around Crowley, he had yet to allow either human in here. He didn’t want them to see Crowley so vulnerable.

“Oh Crowley,” he whispered tears leaking, “Please come back to me before its too late, my love.”

;

Shadwell had taken to trying ‘smoke’ out the witch as he put it. Fell had locked himself in the bedroom for three days now without even attempting to explain a lick of this. Not a bit of it made an ounce of sense and the fact that Crowley had yet to be seen, the demon who had forced Shadwell into this mess, made it more troubling.

He had taken fort on the couch, it was disgustingly stylish and gaudy, a long circular deep crimson thing to match the shag carpet. The entire room reminded Shadwell of the showroom he used to sit in watching the upper-class eye every piece of art hung or as Shadwell saw it, just tossed on the wall. That was back in his thieving days, art warehouses run by every yank with a fake accent were good places to find stuffed pockets to pick. The best part of the artsy types were they didn’t mind your poor clothing too much, just figured you were going for the poor artist look. 

There wasn’t a lot that felt personal in the penthouse, not in the rooms that allowed Shadwell to enter anyway. The master bedroom and study were tightly locked, no matter how he jimmied the locks or how hard he kicked against the damn doors, they refused to budge. There were a line of guest rooms that had likely never had human contact, Fell had locked himself in the master bedroom leaving a line of three guests Shadwell and Tracy had taken over.

The woman had made herself at home, bringing suitcases from home and transferring phone calls here for the time being. Her room looked less like a five-star suit now and more like a frilly lingerie store.

Shadwell didn’t settle into a single room, he stayed on the hard couch and waited. He waited for Crowley to finally arrive, he pitied Fell, god help him, he pitied whatever Fell was. Crowley was the one he needed to have harsh words with, he would let the woman deal with Fell.

He remembered his last encounter with Mister Crowley, and it rewound itself back to his forethought each time the vision ended.

;

There was a time in her life Madame Tracy had been where Fell was now, down on her luck and ready to throw in the towel. If Shadwell’s claims of the man’s wings were anything to go by, maybe she could also believe Mrs. Doyle’s claims of Fell never aging. She didn’t want to deal with the mental strain of all of that and just categorize it as rather odd and went on with her day. She would rather focus on the bigger issue; a man was being raped by a family member and needed help.

She was preparing supper on the third day and decided Fell needed to eat, it wasn’t good to just hide away forever like that.

She glanced disapprovingly at Shadwell making stabbing motions with the knife he had taken from poor Mr. Fell and mumbling to himself about Mr. Crowley once more. She wanted to step in seeing him stab one of the defenseless throw pillows but just let him do as he pleased for now. She tightened her hold on the tray with piled with food.

She walked across the hall to the master bedroom and gently knocked upon the door. 

“Dear?”

She was met with the usual silence.

“I know you are upset but hiding away isn’t going to fix it. Please come out and talk to Mista Shadwell and me, we really do want to just help ya, love.”

She sighed setting the tray down, hoping Fell would take it himself when he was ready, she only paused hearing a low knock on the other side of the door. Fell must have been settling beside the door.

“I’m sorry to have involved you, really I am Madame, you can’t help.”

Madame Tracy was a lot of things, but she had never known when to quit once she got her mind set on something. She had decided she was going to help Fell and silly tales Shadwell told of wings and demons weren’t going to scare her away.

“Now that’s not a way to act, there is plenty we could do to help---”

Fell snorted at that, “Like calling the authorities?”

“If’n ya ever feel comfortable enough to do that to put yer um family member away, sure we could.”

Fell let out a humorless chuckle, it sent a chill down Tracy’s spine, if there was a sound to attach to hopeless situations you were forced to accept that had to be it.

“I can only hope for the highest authority and I’m afraid she’s not quite listening, madame.”

“She?”

“Gabriel and I’s mother.”

Maybe she had no right thinking deeply on it, if he had been violated his entire life by his own brother, maybe it was just natural to assume one’s mother is the only one who can do anything on the matter.

“Not quite sure I understand that logic love,” she admitted anyway, hoping for an explanation from a reasonable man like Fell. Thinking your mother could solve your problems at his age seemed rather childish.

There was a low chuckle at that.

“In the old days, all I need say was I was a messenger of the lord and thou must not fear me, but we’ve come quite a way since the Old Testament days. Not a bad thing though, I don’t think I could handle having a hand in another disaster and another mass loss of life.”

Tracy didn’t interrupt him not sure what to make of this rambling, it could well be another delusion on poor Fell’s part. She was quite used to delusions, her mother had them until she finally passed ten years ago. She had visions of angels and the lord too before she prematurely ended her own suffering to be in loving arms, to find love her daughter could never give her.

“I suppose to have a better understanding of what I am since I can’t show you at the moment, I should go back to the beginning. Both of our beginnings. Both humanity and I were placed in a garden shortly after She created us.”

“Ah of course,” she said sympathetically leaning against the door and frowning. It was usually best to let them have their delusions, if it made them feel better. No doubt Shadwell and his delusions would only make the matter worse.

A long silence settled between her and the door, she sighed about to leave when Fell began talking again. His voice was softer now, she pushed herself against the door and squatted next to it to hear him better.

“Miracles are a bit of a lost art, Madame, lost to man and demon and Heaven alike, only few can possess this power now.”

She frowned but played along with his little parlor game.

“Sounds like a load of nonsense to me, Mister Fell,” She played along as the disapproving spectator.

“Oh, but it’s not, my dear, miracles are born in belief and love, I believe someone as intelligent as you can understand that.”

“How do ye intend to prove me wrong then love?”

“Close your eyes and tighten your fist around the air,” Fell began breathing deeper, concentrating himself, “Think of nothing but your love for the world and your belief in anything. Your belief in our almighty mother, your belief in peace or your belief in unknown wonders.”

She chuckled a little and closed her eyes thinking of her mother who she loved dearly and her belief she had in Fell to get through this and not suffer like her mum.

Slowly she opened her eyes and didn’t expect anything to be different, she opened her fist and tumbled backwards with a loud gasp. She glanced at the door, jimmying the handle which was still locked. She glanced around the hall and knew she was the only one here.

Grasped in her hand was the locket she had locked up in her jewelry box at home, the one her mother had given her. She felt tears misting her eyes, Fell had to be an angel or at the very least a very talented witch to pull that off.


	33. Intermission: Heaven

Michael didn’t like Earth and preferred to spend as much time away from it as possible, it was as depraved and low as hell in their humble opinion. Stepping into the establishment they were to meet their contact did little to change their perception.

Humans had an odd relationship with time, the 1950s were mere moments ago yet the Americans were treating it like a bygone time few remembered with these dinners. Waitresses with big poodle skirts and rollerblades and 1950s hot rods strung up on the walls, it was tacky and it made Michael’s stomach twist as an architect. 

Hell had a hand in the creation of such establishments but the blessing Michael themself had given the contractor of this franchise made it neutral grounds to meet their informant. Things on both Heaven and Hell’s side must go smoothly for the ineffable plan to continue to pull forward. Neither side got their war to end all wars and determine who was right, Lucifer or their mother, if things didn’t go according to plan.

Michael had ordered a coffee to pass the time but didn’t drink it. Their corporation had no need for fuel, if their celestial soul fed it and kept it strong, it wouldn’t just be an immortal human body as Aziraphale once told them. As a punishment, Michael once cut off his miracles for a time and that was how he described living without them.

Aziraphale, the problem that was always Aziraphale. 

Michael sighed pouring more sugar into the coffee from the shaker and frowned seeing the odd stares they got from the action, sugar was usually paired with coffee according to Aziraphale’s inane reports. They supposed once more he could be wrong about something. Aziraphale was normally wrong about things.

“Yer dumping salt in yer coffee, ya ninny.”

They listlessly turned their glare towards Ligur as he slid across from them and their glare hardened as he snatched the shaker from their delicate grasp.

“Always huffing and puffing about me giving us away but here ya are dumping a container of salt into coffee.”

The contrast was staggering between the two, each belonging to very different worlds and ideals. Even humans noticed the two should not be associating together immediately on glance alone. Neither really belonged in this establishment or this world, they had an almost uncanny quality to them. Unlike Aziraphale and Crowley, none of the rest of their kin bothered to understand humans, they were lesser beings whose only use was as pawns in a celestial game that had yet to truly start.

From Michael’s pearly white pant suit that felt more suitable for a dazzling magic act in Las Vegas or possibly consuming illegal substances with a Rockstar to Ligur’s trench coat, beanie and thick coating of grime that made him perfectly suitable to be selling those illegal substances for rockstars. 

Everything must stay balanced though and it forced the two to discuss business with one another. Michael would like nothing more then to smite the creature but instead they passed their file on assigned blessings from the angels of Earth and Ligur passed his folder on temptations. This was part of the treaty and more for show than anything, by no means did they have to lay all their cards on the table so to say. It was common for both sides to lie or omit the truth as they liked to say. They were preparing their troops and preparing their battlefield it was on both sides best interest to play nice and work together to even things out. That wasn’t to say they didn’t keep things and there weren’t numerous trials and meetings set up to fight out small battles through law and forums and bureaucracy.

Heaven did things fairly for they were the good guys, Hell played along seeing this fairness a fun form of torture for the damned on their side.

Farther into the discussion Michael felt a sickening sense of satisfaction at the frustration on the demon’s face, the annoyance, the want for violence that couldn’t come yet. Not here. There would be consequences. Michael secretly reveled in the control they had in these situations and made each meeting agonizingly slow just to drag out the torment. 

“Enough of this blasted torment,” Ligur finally spat attempting to yank the document from Michael’s hand but they had a hard grip that only made Ligur more frustrated.

“You know and I know it don’t fucking matter who blessed what strand of grass that ain’t do no good for either side!”

“It matters,” Michael sneered, “For we must know we are all accountable. No stray, unaccounted for miracles or counter miracles on either side---”

“Let’s talk something interesting for once in our miserable existences as office clerks,” Ligur started finally managing to yank the file from the angel’s hands and toss it behind them. Michael was less than amused as was the man behind them the file had struck and fallen in his deep-fried garbage. 

“This is not a social visit.”

Ligur swept that off, testing Michael’s patience leaning back in the booth and kicking a mud-covered boot to rest on the table atop their paperwork.

“I wanna talk about somethin’ a bit more interesting, not this usual bullshit.”

“You are not in---”

Ligur immediately talked over Michael rising their ire as he wiped grime from his boots on the sides of their perfectly white shimmering paperwork.

“I hear yer brother likes to fuck the baby of yer flock.”

Michael refused to answer, and the demon kept going on anyway.

“Awfully demonic, eh? Raping the baby of the group, forcing ‘im down, bleeding him raw so every demon in the area could smell the stink of a dying angel.”

“That is none of your---”

Once more Ligur waved off their attempt to get ahold of the conversation.

“My sources found out the baby of yer flock has a bit of fight ta ‘im,” a teeth full of jagged yellow teeth bared at the angel like a cat trying to pounce the dog thinking it would win that fight, “Found out the baby were asking about demonic weapons and were flashing one at the lower rats in the gutter asking about how ya use it properly.” 

“Me and Hastur got a bet going, will the little Prince kill himself or will he kill Gabriel and fall to us?”

Michael bared their teeth in warning, more than a few feathers ruffled at the implication and Ligur’s shit eating grin only grew. They were eating this up, they were finally the one in control and they were living.

“Now if’n yer done ‘ith ‘im since he’s a traitor and all, I would be proud to take the little principality from ya, I like broken toys.”

Michael sneered at the demon knocking his foot away and yanking their papers before storming from the meeting, the echoing laughter of the demon digging a wound to lick later. It was not easy to make Michael feel embarrassment but as always, Aziraphale was good at bringing disappointment their way.

;

God’s door had not been opened in three thousand years and even then, not even the Metatron was permitted in God’s domain. They always spoke on the threshold, God choosing to speak through them, entering their soul and becoming one with the Metatron making them know Her thoughts allowing Her to see them announce it to Her kingdom. Memos were left by her door and they tended to pile up, stacks on stacks around Her door. She would transport anything she deemed important and answer only that, leaving the rest for the Metatron to come to his best conclusion about.

This was different though, Her door opened and every Guardian paused, just staring at the opening. Despite the blinding white light, none looked away from the giant Golden Doorway. The office space dissolved around The Metatron, desks, paperwork, file cabinets and every Guardian dissolved in the beam of light that kept becoming brighter, nothing more important than that.

“Come. We have much to discuss.”

The Metatron supposed if they could feel fear, they would feel a twinge of it now as they stepped into the unknown blinding light and if they could feel comfort, they would feel the loving embrace of their mother as the light dimmed and a galaxy of stars was born from it.

;

Gabriel stepped into the deserted little book shop in Soho and did what he had been doing for weeks now, he waited. Aziraphale wouldn’t stay from him for long, he would return, Gabriel had faith in that. 

Aziraphale had been rather well trained before decided on hiding, he didn’t know what had gotten into his head, but he would rehabilitate him in Heaven. Give him purpose once more, make him appreciative of all Gabriel did for him. 

Gabriel picked up one of the many books scattered across the shop, he frowned at the mess.

Aziraphale was rather like Raphael the way he hoarded things. Gabriel recalled his older brother’s domain, littered with imperfect stars and planet rings that didn’t meet his own meticulous standards. He kept the imperfect to remind himself what perfection wasn’t, he always told Gabriel. Even his imperfect work was his own and he treasured it and the growth he learned from each failure.

Wasn’t that just what Aziraphale was? Something imperfect to learn from, to hoard and fix in whatever way you saw fit. Gabriel was free to craft him in whatever way he wanted; he was a gift from her. He didn’t treasure him before, but he found a purpose for him and he wanted to cherish him for the rest of eternity.

He strolled into the backroom, a whistle on his lips and his hands pressed behind his back. It was like strolling down memory lane walking into here, there wasn’t a spot he hadn’t known every inch of his present from Her in anyway he saw fit.

Perhaps some would find how he cherished Aziraphale demonic, but it was holy. A warrior of God had found use in a creature who previously had none, he found an object to sway his frustrations and keep the casualties in the training hall to a minimum.

Maybe one day he would cherish Aziraphale in a more traditional sense, after Hell was gone and Earth was a memory and there was no need for violence. When Aziraphale was finally shaped into a creature worth loving, then Gabriel would gladly bow at his feet and kiss each of his fingers. Until then, Aziraphale needed to learn.

Gabriel knew he should be frustrated Aziraphale had taken to hiding from him, but he took it as a challenge, he would come back eventually. He would find him if he didn’t come back willingly, it would end up with him bound in Gabriel’s chambers until he fully healed but whether he would be gentle in taking him back to Heaven was his own choice. 

He touched the surface of the desk and remembered Aziraphale willingly leaning over it, bare skin marked red and wet enough to just slip inside his inflamed hole. He had finally gotten Aziraphale at the perfect weight, not an ounce of fat on him, thin and small, as an angel bellow Gabriel should be.

He felt himself hardening thinking of Aziraphale and the fun he would have with him when he finally found him, zipper sliding down on its own as his erection perked up and his hand slid down his pants.

;

Michael and Uriel couldn’t let go of each other’s hand as they walked through the Soho streets. They could have just appeared there, but they needed time to think and to plan and they needed time to hold each other in grief for the trouble their brother was in. It was like losing Raphael all over again and it was Aziraphale’s fault.

They got many odd stares as they walked, not completely knowing their way and going in a bit of a circle more then once but they found themselves outside of their youngest sibling’s shop soon enough.

The locked door of the book shop willed itself open to their arrival knowing better than to keep anything from an archangel, something its owner could learn.

There was a loud screeching of furniture and low gasps coming from the backroom, Uriel glanced towards Michael for guidance both knowing Gabriel was here. Michael tightened their hand around their younger sibling and snapped their fingers, moments later Gabriel stepped towards them not a hair out of place.

“I told you to keep a low profile while the Metatron got involved,” Michael sneered letting go of Uriel and taking a threatening step towards her brother, “Did I not tell you to keep yourself clean now that all eyes were on you?!” 

Ever since the Metatron had taken to questioning bleeding Aziraphale, Michael had warned Gabriel about keeping a low profile. They warned him to let them heal Aziraphale and bring him back home to ease him into the fold once more so no more questions came to them about their gift from Her. Even a useless gift should be cherished in Her eyes. 

Gabriel opened his mouth and Michael sneered not in the mood for excuses knowing well what their brother had just been doing. What he dared to do here while the guardians watched this place. They struck Gabriel hard across the face and were slightly satisfied at the terror that finally sunk into his thick head.

“Even demons are mumbling to themselves about Aziraphale! Gabriel, this is giving us a bad name!”

Uriel gently took Michael’s hand and shifted their anger back to worry looking towards their sibling.

“Gabriel, the only way to save face now is to find Aziraphale and have him willingly fall for treachery.”

Gabriel sneered at the suggestion, not liking the idea of losing his cherished principality, his favored toy. His gift from Her, he was supposed to be allowed to use him in anyway he saw fit.

“Michael gives news that he has associated with demons and holds a demonic weapon, you can use that brother. Please do not let them punish you for this, we need you, spin this information to your favor. Make the bleeding a necessary decision.”

Gabriel sneered towards his siblings opening his mouth to argue when they were interrupted by the rug flying up over bookshelves and the portal to the Metatron’s office being opened. A small bird fly towards them, settling on a shelf looking down at them.

“Archangel Gabriel, you have been summoned by our mother along with the principality Aziraphale.” 

Michael for once in their existence was speechless, there was nothing they could think of to say to the guardian. They normally had no problem taking control of situations involving lower beings but this one was directly connected to the Metatron who was connected directly to their mother. 

“May we have a moment with our brother before we meet her?”

Uriel thought faster than either of their siblings who stood with open mouths not knowing how to respond.

“Of course,” the Guardian said with a bow of their head, “Please just step into the circle whenever you are ready.”

“We do not know where our other brother is,” Michael began hoping to stall for more time.

“It is no bother, another Guardian is to meet us here and we shall all go up together.”

All three archangels glanced towards each other, all three spinning tales in their heads to protect Gabriel and once more forsaken Aziraphale. The problem that always got them in these messes.


	34. Wings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So I cut this chapter in half. Heaven showing up will be saved for the next chapter because I was becoming a bit overwhelmed dealing with such a long chapter and I didn't know if all those different elements being tossed in a chapter would flow right. I'm sorry for the inconvenience but new chapter!

“I promise I won’t freak out or say nothin’ but I just need ta see them.”

It was very strange having a mortal know you weren’t like them, compromising his mission as an observer and revealing himself. Another little tick against him he supposed, he was rather good at failing to be a proper angel.

“They aren’t in the best shape,” Aziraphale mumbled defensively, it felt intimate to show his wings. Even Crowley hadn’t seen them but on accident (Rome was a very interesting time for the two).

“Shadwell had mentioned it,” She said slowly glancing down at her cup of tea grasped in her hands. She fidgeted at her seat and glanced towards the potted plants she had placed on the counter hoping to brighten up the penthouse.

Aziraphale noted the flowers were wilted, he sadly ran his fingertips across the peddle of a pink daisy and smiled noting he found enough will in him to make the flower perk up. He glanced towards Madame Tracy who was dumping more sugar absently into her tea, a thoughtful look on her face. It had been a day since he had finally come out and accepted, she wasn’t leaving, she was grasping at straws trying to help a situation he knew she wasn’t completely understanding.

“Your…Crowley…” she began and stopped not sure how to go on. Aziraphale glanced at her then sighed, gesturing his head as he rose from his spot. She didn’t follow at first, nursing her drink a moment longer watching Aziraphale disappear into the hallway before finally getting up to follow. She made a brief note of Shadwell snoring loudly on the couch, grasping what looked like a wooden spike as if he was going to hunt a vampire anytime now.

She paused a foot from Fell, standing in front of the master bedroom, a nervous look about him and fingers quaking against the doorknob.

“I want to show you something, but you must promise to not do anything. To cherish what I show you and be as kind as you have been to me.”

She was sure she said something but for the life of her, she couldn’t recall. It was just an inane little noise overshadowed by all that came next.

Madame Tracy stepped in the room after the man and realized all at once how personal and intimate this space was. It was Fell’s haven and he was amounting a lot of trust in her to allow her into the area. She wasn’t quite sure if she deserved this amount of trust, but she would take it and hold it close to her heart. It was something worth cherishing.

Plenty of friendly people she had come into contact with had been capable of extreme things and no offense to Fell’s deep love for the body later but the only thing she could think of seeing a still body not breathing tucking in bed was murder. She was zooming through scenarios in her head and what was to be done with the still lifeless body of Mr. Crowley when Fell finally spoke up.

“He’s not dead,” he said very softly sitting next to the corpse and running his fingers through red hair, “He’s just asleep.”

“He isn’t breathing, love,” Tracy attempted to be as gentle as possible staring at the loving fingers stroking the stiff corpse, she really couldn’t find herself faulting Fell for his mental break but they couldn’t leave the corpse of a possible mob boss in the room either. 

She had witnessed the fight between Crowley and Shadwell, the slender man was much stronger than he appeared. He tossed Shadwell down the stairs like it was nothing, as if a man Shadwell’s size was nothing for him. When he spat at Shadwell to stay down when he slammed his boot into his unprotected ribs, Shadwell was in such a state of terror he did as he was told. If the man could do that to Shadwell, imagine what he would have done to a sweet man like Fell. 

“He doesn’t when he sleeps,” Fell mused breaking her train of thought, “I suppose he does look dead but its just the corporation conserving energy. Lazy fiend, he does like his little naps, once slept one hundred years just so he didn’t have to face the misery that was the plague.”

Fell paused a moment taking in Madame Tracy’s shock as her brain tried to process the madness he was feeding her. The mob boss slept a hundred years? Weren’t corporations like Sainsbury’s or those yank fast food places? She knew people had their own lies in their head to keep themselves safe from trauma but Fell’s imagination was vast to make such stories. Much vaster than Shadwell’s nonsense. 

She felt a weight on her neck as she shifted her head in discomfort. She felt her mother’s locket, slowly she pulled it out from under her puffy pink sweater and let it rest on her palm. She ran her finger across the dove indented on it and took a deep breath. Fell had proven to her more then Shadwell would ever, if he said any of this was true, well she might not get it but she was going to have some faith. 

“I suppose I should explain him as well, he is a demon to put it simply. The original tempter, the wily serpent of Eden and he has been protecting me since that day on the gate.” 

There was having faith in magic and there pretending living things didn’t need to breath though. 

“Love, he ain’t breathing, are you sure…demons,” a short pause from her and she was surprised later how patient the angel really was about this, “Don’t um…die and go back down?” 

Her head rolled down and her eyes fell on the shag carpet over the marble floor, Fell’s head rolled with her’s, and they both stared down a moment. The silence became uncomfortable and Tracy began to squirm in fear she couldn’t comprehend. She glanced up at Fell’s panicked expression then melted away with a deep breath. His emotional state was always rather contagious, must have been whatever magic he had. She secretly hoped he could teach it to her, it would do wonders for her business. 

“I feel humans don’t quite understand how we exist on this physical plane sometimes,” Aziraphale said with a little huff, “Literature, art, theater, movies, the telly, they all seem to depict us as just humans. Born like humans, die like humans. It’s a bit more complicated.”

There was a pause and a small hmm from both Tracy and Aziraphale lost in their thoughts.

“Well, ya need ta eat and sleep like humans, Mr. Fell,” Tracy began to boldly say and even more boldly sitting next to Aziraphale on the bed.

“I only require that now because I am too weak to fuel my corporation in the normal manner.” 

He sighed, nodding his head towards the bed allowing Tracy to sit with them. Tracy felt it was too intimate to invite herself next to Fell who was staring at the corpse like fallen star dust. A treasure someone like her couldn’t possibly comprehend, in short he was deeply in love and each loving stroke to the demon’s hair exemplified that fact. 

Instead she sat in the red leather reading chair by the wall, sitting down it sent a soft chill up her spine. It was the most unwelcoming furniture she had ever sat down in. She shifted uncomfortably a few times before starting the conversation up once more. 

“I’m afraid you are losing me again, Mr. Fell.”

“Aziraphale, please.” 

His voice was soft and there was a fear there. A fear being known, of being punished for giving away a secret he wasn’t supposed to. 

“Excuse me, dove?” 

Their eyes met across the room and Fell straightened becoming bold as he took one of Mistah Crowley’s stiff hands, giving it a tight squeeze. 

“My true name, its Aziraphale, I would feel more comfortable if you referred to me as Aziraphale.” 

He clung to the demon’s hand tightly as Tracy hummed bringing her finger to her chin in deep thought. 

“Aziraphale.” 

She said the name on her tongue after repeating it several times in her mind, it felt strange, yet comforting. It was like stepping out into the first day of spring day, it felt warm and felt refreshing. She wondered for a split second if there was magic in angelic names, maybe that’s why he hadn’t shared it sooner. 

“I like it, it feels right. Nice and tingly on your tongue.”

From there is was a rather long few hours, talking like human children did at sleepovers. For her part, Madame Tracy was amazing at listening. Aziraphale was certain she wasn’t grasping anything he was saying but she did more than anyone had done for him in a very long time. Listened to him. Allowed him to speak as long as he liked about things and never went behind his back on matters or talked over him.

It was the first time in six thousand years he felt he had a friend that wasn’t Crowley, it truly was like having Eve back in his life.

;

Tracy dabbled in what might call witchcraft, in the sense that she had her homemade little potions for everything. Back in 1960, she had taken to living with gentlemen in the back of vans and brewing these little concoctions for money to get by.

She found she rather liked these little potions and felt it was in character for her to sell them on the side as a psychic.

She had woken up with an idea and she just couldn’t let it go. After a day of planning it out, she was ready to spring it on her friend. Aziraphale for his part didn’t shut down her suggestion as she broached it during breakfast, but he did give her a large frown at the suggestion.

“I’m not sure how well oils would do for my wings,” Aziraphale stated softly but firmly taking a long sip of his tea.

“The gal who sold them to me were a real witch and everything, though, dove,” Tracy tried again indicating towards the decorative bottles lined in front of her on the table. Each glimmering and lighting the table’s surface up in a rainbow of colors, Aziraphale would give whoever gave this nonsense to her, those fancy perfume bottles gave an otherworldly glow to the baby oil dumped in each bottle.

“Not the usual fake stuff I like to brew for the shop, it was actually brewed during the full moon, by a naked woman and everything.”

“Even if it is legit,” Aziraphale frowned not wanting to add how he highly doubted it was and put a damper to his friend’s genuine enthusiasm, “I am ethereal, my dear woman, not occult.”

“Oh posh,” she said with a firm shake of her head, “Can’t be that much of a difference can there? Damned, blessed, both stocks were made by God, can’t be too different.”

Aziraphale felt he should take more offense to that then he did and maybe if Shadwell had been the one to say it, he would have. Now he was simply too tired to argue. He rarely had much say in the matter anymore and felt it was just easier to roll with it.

“It’s like saying different breeds ah dogs need different types a care ain’t it?” Tracy continued to blather on taking a pause only to sip her tea, “The poodle and the boxer got different mannerisms and what not, but they are just dogs. Pretty sure its da same with angels and demons.”

Aziraphale stuffed a crumpet in his mouth to keep the mouthful of grievances he had with being compared to a poodle. Why a poodle anyway? Was it his curls? Poodles were known as stuffy uptight dogs he had found in the media; he was hoping she wasn’t saying he was like that. He thought of a boxer, a much larger breed of dog, a much more aggressive dog and couldn’t fathom Crowley being one.

“Don’t break yer brain on metaphors love, just trying to make an example,” Tracy giggled at the way Aziraphale’s face crumpled in deep thought, cheeks overstuffed with the crumpet he had forgotten he stuffed there to keep from arguing.

Aziraphale had finally relented, allowing Tracy into the master bedroom once more and allowed her to clamor onto the grand bed alongside him with the curtains drawn. He didn’t dislike Shadwell, but he couldn’t say he had a strong enough trust with him to see his wings again. They were a personal part of him, and he had seen him vulnerable enough. 

He was thankful the man was out doing whatever he did these days, but still didn’t want him to catch even a glance of his wings again if he did manage to finally bust in the bedroom door like he had attempted to do before. 

He sat with his back to Tracy, fidgeting with the fine fabric of the curtains. He sat by Crowley’s feet, scooted as close to the demon as possible, he felt safest near him. He was certain that if Tracy harmed him in anyway, Crowley would immediately slip from slumber. He was only allowing her to see such an intimate part of him while Crowley was near. It wasn’t that he didn’t trust the woman, truly he did, but he had once deeply trusted Gabriel as well.

“We don’t…”

“No,” Aziraphale cut her off instantly shaking his head and quickly pulling his robe off and tossing it to the side showing her his bare back. He didn’t want to hide away from this any longer.

Taking a final breath to ease his nerves, he unleashed his wings.

There was a loud gasp from the woman and on instinct, Aziraphale felt his wings pulling in, wrapping around himself protectively.

“Oh my…Shadwell had said…but oh my dear…”

“Aren’t there supposed to be feathers? Oh, my love, the feathers.”

Aziraphale attempted to say something, make an excuse, tell a slight fib. He tried to say anything to cut off his friend’s concerned rambling, she sounded so distressed and he knew he was adding to her shock by his own despair leaking out. 

“And yer back…oh my goodness love!”

Aziraphale had moved up enough to take hold of Crowley’s limp hand and hold it tight, he didn’t feel brave enough to handle this and just wanted Crowley to wake up. He worried his bottom lip and stared at the blankets piled on his demon, gently smoothing them out.

“Ah yes, well, they are quite bad, but are on the mend.”

Tracy hummed, not in agreement nor disagreement, her brain still attempting to process everything that was going on.

“May I…?”

“It’s alright, they aren’t as bad as they look, I promise.”

There was still hesitation, Tracy’s fingertip glided across the edge of his battered wing before immediately yanking her hand away as if it was on fire. A long stretch of silence followed before it was broke by a jaunting question.

“Did yer brother do this?”

“No,” Aziraphale admitted, “Not technically. He never quite had it in him to bleed me, he loves me and gave someone else those honors. If you are asking what became of the feathers, they withered on their own and what was left, my other sibling had to yank off because they were sickly and wouldn’t heal right.”

Tracy did what she normally did when she didn’t know what was being discussed and changed the subject.

“The gal swore up and down this would calm the mind and soul,” she said instead uncorking a bottle and the scent of lavender untenses Aziraphale immediately, it had a soothing effect on him. It reminded him of the garden and the flowers he spent time weaving into Eve’s curls.

Aziraphale’s attempt at complex words became a hiss and moan of happiness as the oil was soothed into sore wings. He found himself sinking further down allowing Tracy’s talented and very experienced fingers to roam and circle and dig deep into the tender flesh in a gentleness he wasn’t used to. It wasn’t yanking or taking as his siblings had done to him but gentle and compassionate. She stopped every now and again to ask if she could go further, if she could swap oils, never crossing boundaries.

Aziraphale attempted to give a hmm of permission once more as she asked if she could coat a thick layer of lotion on the flesh to help the feathers regrow, but it came out as a sob as a strange emotion overcame him. He couldn’t place, he just hiccupped on the noise and covered his mouth and squeezed his eyes tight in embarrassment at being overwhelmed by kindness when he could just sit through forceful hands.

“I’m sorry, I don’t understand why…”

“Yer overwhelmed, it's alright, its normal,” Tracy said slowly and very carefully placing a gentle hand on his shoulder, “Been getting nothin’ but anger for awhile, a little kindness feels too much.”

“I want so desperately to believe Gabriel was being kind,” Aziraphale whispered clinging to Crowley’s hand once more, praying silently for his strength.

“Ya just want ta believe they hurt you for a purpose, they beat ya for a reason, under those ugly actions is love. They doin’ it fer yer own good.”

Aziraphale nodded and glanced back towards Tracy with a concern that burned brighter then his own pain. He wanted to reach out and help, it was in his nature to want to heal and comfort. He felt her pain flowing through him like it was his own, a similar pain he had felt before. A deep grief after accepting abuse.

“Ma dad liked to beat me and mum,” she said with a half hearted shrug laying back into the mound of pillows away from the angel cuddled to his demon, “He said it was God’s will too. He doin’ it ta keep us from damnation.”

“She would never---!”

Tracy cut him off with a shrug.

“Ain’t gonna say old wounds don’t sting but he has no power over me no more and I don’t let him hurt me. The only regret I got is that mum never listened, mum took the direct root to the Lord instead of ever standing up to a demon like ‘im.”

“I ain’t gonna tell ya what ta do, everyone needs to go at their own pace, but please don’t let ‘im win, Aziraphale. Don’t leave me like me mum did…”

Aziraphale gently took Tracy into his arms as she began to cry, years of trauma washing over both of them. Old wounds opening and Aziraphale tried to seal them with love and whispered assurances he would never just leave such a wonderful woman.

“I promise, Aziraphale, I will help ya! Ya are such a kind soul everyone loves in Soho! Yer demon loves ya! I love ya! Even Shadwell do! Don’t let such an ugly creature win…”

It was easy for him to make a promise to not let Gabriel win but it was so much harder thinking of confronting his sibling again. Admitting to yourself and those you trusted you were hurt was easy, but he feared so strongly Gabriel would be able to sway him into thinking he deserved it again.


	35. The Guardian

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Merry eve before Christmas Eve, happy Hanukkah, happy holidays! Thank you guys so much for following this story and keeping me motivated to write!

Shadwell glanced towards the giggling hens clucking about in the kitchen. He was always out of their little world; they kept the hen house (what he referred to the master bedroom as now). He stayed on the couch, hardly leaving position, he was the dog guarding the hen house from foxes. Foxes like the coven leader who sexually abused Fell and the demon Crowley.

He side eyed the kitchen, he could hear them clucking louder, they weren’t award winning hens, but they were his. He vowed to protect them from evil as any good witch hunter sergeant would and he was. One was possibly a demon, possibly a witch and the other was a tempting whore but they needed protection. 

He hadn’t truly been listening to their conversation, it was all useless rubbish beforehand, they were talking about Harry Houdini. Of course, witches worshipped that man. He didn’t start truly listening until they started clucking about Mistah Crowley, the right bastard he was looking for.

“Tell me about, Mistah Crowley, what does he like, love?”

“He’s not one for food, I’m afraid. Never known him to enjoy it.”

“Never?”

“Afraid not, he likes coffee and fine wine and I’ve known him to enjoy dark bitter chocolate on occasion, but I’m afraid he wouldn’t appreciate your beautiful crepes as much as I.”

“Well, we’ll just have to fix that won’t we? Never known a man not to enjoy my crepes and they have brought many a man out of a drunken stupor by smell alone and I bet they will wake ‘im as well.”

Shadwell kept his eyes on them as they passed by him, both going quiet seeing him, no longer clucking seeing him. Fell looked nervously towards him and Tracy gave him a slight smile as they carried their tray of crepes into the hallway and disappeared from his line of sight. They went to lock themselves up once more.

;

Day after day for nearly a week they kept up their secrecy and refused to let Shadwell into their little nest in the master bedroom.

Shadwell kept his perch on the couch and couldn’t help the bubbling anger at the situation. He went out of his way to protect them and they cut him out of their little secret. Whatever they were hiding in their hen house.

They went to market one day while Shadwell was napping, it was almost like they were planning it that way so he wouldn’t know what they were up to. They came back with strange packets of French nonsense and expensive alcohol.

“Shadwell be a good man and clean up yer garbage,” the madame stated to him with a frown seeing the mess he had been living off his own rations not entirely wanting to bother the sanctuary that was the kitchen.

“Please sergeant, I only ask you smoke outside,” Fell added in giving a firm frown as he passed by him looking at the ashes and cigarettes smashed in the ugly carpet and couch. He wasn’t grateful in the least bit for all Shadwell did here, protecting them from a monster like Mistah Crowley and the coven leader who forced himself upon fell. Shadwell didn’t know how Crowley fit into this, but he didn’t trust him.

Maybe he didn’t really trust Fell either, but he pitied Fell. He was likely a normal (if not strange man) before all this came into his life. It wasn’t his fault he was a pansy; Shadwell was gonna help him as best as he could.

He pulled the dagger out once more and glared at it.

He had contacted his old mentor about this predicament he had landed in. He had gone all the way down to West London and had to pull quite the feat to get a blade in a prison just to get his opinion on it in the Scrubs.

Even old Narker, who had seen enough objects from hell to make an average man go mad, had nothing to say on it. The only thing of interest he had to say was that he had seen the ruins carved in the middle before, but even that information wasn’t much use. The entire exchange ended with a shrug and a sigh, before old Narker was led away by the guards.

He yelled to him if he ever met a Crowley before and the only response was it was familiar, but it was lost to memory. Lost to a time before he was imprisoned for life for burning a witch at the stake (murder and arson as the courts deemed it). 

After himself, Narker was the only other witch hunter he knew of, so he had no more leads.

An intelligent man would have buckled down and done research about an old object, Shadwell was not a wise man. He was barely a sensible man. He was hardly even a good man on his best day, his research had included seeing “Return to Witch Mountain” in the cinema and rambling angrily to patrons about the inaccurate portrayal of witches.

Harassing people minding their business was sadly something Shadwell was very good at and most would say he would be much more suited to a job as a telemarketer then a witch hunter. Both evil career paths that even Hell turned their noses to.

Suffice to say, he had no leads on Crowley, what Fell was, where the Coven leader was, who the coven leader even was and how he was related to Fell, how he was going to help or why he was sticking around. That was the most infuriating conundrum of them all, why he was bothering. He didn’t owe Fell a thing and Fell didn’t owe him, the Whore of Babylon had it all covered now, he could leave until they called him back groveling for help. He just couldn’t bring himself to leave. He was here and the stubbornness in him wasn’t gonna let him leave until he accomplished something. 

He couldn’t get his mind off Fell’s genuine terror before he used his witchcraft on him. He couldn’t get the image of a little kind man like Fell being raped. He thought of Mistah Crowley and his anger, the fear that travelled through him thinking of the demon. He had seen how violent the man could be, how he had tossed him down the stairs after giving him a wrong answer, how he was obsessed with Fell. It almost seemed dangerous too and he tried to tell himself he didn’t care about Fell as much as he cared about how he had been wronged but that wasn’t true, was it?

He hadn’t slept the night before and he was falling back on old drinking habits hard in his endless frustration at the situation and how useless he was here.

He was sitting at the bar in the living room when he finally decided to confront Fell and Tracy. He was glugging down the final drops of the fire whiskey he had bought the night before after his dinner of fast food and caught the courage to go into their little sanctuary he hadn’t felt welcome in before. 

He walked in on them finishing up their usual crepes, smothering them in dark chocolate and adding a cup of black coffee to their tray next to two much more sugary drinks. They were giggling to each other before immediately dropping what they were talking about when he entered.

“What are ya clucking about?”

“Never you mind, Mistah Shadwell,” Tracy said dismissively towards him while Fell watched him nervously, eyes glancing towards the knife sheathed and poking from Shadwell’s belt.

“Did ya want some breakfast? I can whip ya up some—”

“I don’t need yer slop, woman,” Shadwell sneered instead making Fell finally look away from the blade and send an angry look towards the man.

“There is no need to be rude, Mr. Shadwell, a no thank you would suffice.”

He said it in such a prissy and condescending way that sent Shadwell’s blood pressure through the roof.

“Rude? I am being rude?” 

Fell was a frail man compared to Shadwell who was bulky and large. Months ago he could have gone toe to toe with him and possibly won beating him with something as ridiculous as an umbrella but now he was frail. Thin and worn, Shadwell wasn’t about to hurt him and knew it but he couldn’t deny that he was frustrated with him. 

“Yes, you are.” 

Madame Tracy had always been a lousy psychic couldn’t predict a problem sitting right in front of her but she didn’t need to speak to the spirits around them to know Shadwell had been drinking and had a history of anger. She was quick to try to mediate a problem before it started. 

“Now, let’s all calm down---”

“All ye do is lay about and give up hope, while I been out trying to solve this problem ya havin’ with the demon Crowley and yer coven leader!”

“I have no problems with, Crowley nor did I ask you to protect me!”

“Shadwell, Aziraphale, let’s calm down loves---”

“Aziraphale?! What is that?! Yer demon name? Yer true name I need ta be usin’ to striking ya back---”

Aziraphale punched Shadwell. It was a surprise for both really, Fell’s punch wasn’t strong enough to even make Shadwell falter. They both just stood there looking at each other, Tracy was just as lost staring on. After several blinks, Fell spun on his heels and just left without another word. Tracy turned to do the same, but Shadwell was faster to hurry after Fell and for the first time in the month he had camped on the couch, was able to shove himself into the master bedroom after Fell.

And there was Mistah Crowley himself lying on the bed.

“why he here??”

“It is his home,” Fell sneered towards him immediately coming between him and Crowley, “Please leave or I will personally escort you out.”

“No,” Shadwell challenged taking a step towards Fell making him falter a moment before taking a glance back towards Crowley and instantly straightening up to Shadwell.

“That is a demon from hell!”

Fell stood his ground evening his glare at Shadwell as he tried to take another step towards the man.

“I don’t know what he been doing to tempt ya or why he wanted me to kill yer brother but it can’t be fer good! Nothing he can do can possibly be fer good!”

“Mistah Shadwell really, please calm down, you don’t need to act this way---”

Madame Tracy was unfortunately ignored; Shadwell drew the knife from his belt making it clear what his intentions were going to be with Crowley.

Fell instantly threw himself over Crowley and the bastard didn’t even budge from his corpse like state on the bed.

“If you kill him, kill me first,” Fell hissed clinging to Crowley, “If you want him dead so badly for wronging you, you have to kill me as well for I did as much. Crowley and I are two sides of the same coin, we have never done anything the other wouldn’t do first, I love him with my entire existence and shall never hope to glimpse on the day I am without him.”

Shadwell couldn’t explain it properly, but he lowered his weapon and just left the room. He left the penthouse. He stayed away for a few days. He did something he had never done in his entire life, he thought on something and admitted he was wrong on it.

He was surprised when he came back with that apology and that truce to not harm Crowley until he was awake to face him like a man and was surprised when he was forgiven.

;

If an angel left their post on Earth and just stopped using miracles as frequently, it was nearly impossible to track them. If they slept and you had a connection to them, you might be able to meet them in the in-between world to find the wayward angel’s corporation but it was nearly unheard of for an angel to just leave their post as Aziraphale had. 

A lot of the things that had been going on were just unheard of for the Guardian. Gabriel had never been pleasant, but they had never heard of him to be so, demonic.

He found Aziraphale the only way the Metatron and one of his minions could, through prayer. From wherever he was he continued to pray and pray to Her and as always, those prayers fell to them. He followed them like a guided path to Mayfair, a lovely upper-class neighborhood that smelt strongly of brimstone making the Guardian bristle nervously. Demons were also very easy to sense, and they knew one was here.

The Guardian had never personally spoken to their mother before but as he sat outside perched on a lamp post staring at the building, he heard her voice travel through Metatron and to him directly through his master. 

“Be not afraid, Ezekiel, this demon shall never harm you. He is now under our protection as Aziraphale is.”

Ezekiel would never question a divine answer from his mother, so he went forward, sending many humans’ hearts aflutter in panic as he shot through the entrance and into the elevator. He didn’t know how to use this device and when he excitedly asked the woman standing with him, he noticed her paling, instantly slamming a finger on a button. She mumbled of demons and clung to her prayer beads and her prayers were instantly picked up by him. He landed on her shoulder and begged her not to be afraid and was a little ashamed to see she was still panicking as he got off on his floor. 

He landed on the doorknob of the door he sensed Aziraphale praying from, praying for this demon’s recovery, praying for the safety of humans and still begging for it all to end. With a little faith in those prayers, the door opened for Ezekiel and he flew in.

He went unnoticed as he perched atop a stack of books, he felt Aziraphale’s presence on them and bristled with delight to meet the principality again after so long. He had last seen him after the great flood. It had been so long, and humans had changed a great deal since then, he hoped his better could explain to him all that had changed. Prayers amused him from humans, and they sent a great deal of confusion through him when they talked of things such as movie stars and television and fast vehicles. He hoped if there was any time, Aziraphale would be kind enough to explain it to him as he had so long ago.

He heard bustling about in the kitchen, people talking and dishes clattering. It made Ezekiel curious, food was always mentioned in prayers and it often made him wonder what consuming food was like. He did not need to, and his master would never allow him to, so he just kept that to himself as he waited for Aziraphale.

“Crepes again??!”

“Madame Tracy is very good at making them Mr. Shadwell and I don’t see you complaining after you have eaten four helpings on your own.”

“Why thank you love, pass the wine, I want to try putting it in the batter, I’m sure it will smell so divine, even a demon would wake to partake in them.”

“That’s a bit much, ain’t it, woman?”

“Will it taste well? You just tossed coffee beans in as well, madame…”

“Oh hush, its things our dear demon enjoys, and I am sure it will wake him today.”

Ezekiel titled his head in amusement seeing a woman, a very lovely younger woman with the brightest red hair he had ever seen and such a colorful robe. It reminded him of the rainbow after the flood and he wished his feathers could be so beautiful even if it was vain of him to think so.

“Aziraphale!” he called with excitement seeing the principality finally come into the room and with a flutter of excitement, he flew towards the principality who stared at him with wide fearful eyes.

Shame filled him for scaring the poor principality knowing what his own flock mate had been doing to him and gently landed on his shoulder nuzzling his head against his face, letting his apology and love flow into his superior and was pleased to see him settle down.

“Fear not, Principality Aziraphale, I have been sent here to collect you to discuss what is to be done with the Archangel Gabriel. Please come with me.”

“And who the hell are you?” the large man behind him bellowed making Ezekiel cower, he had been struck before by demons and angels alike, he prayed silently for the man to not use force on him for doing his job.

“Shadwell,” Aziraphale said firmly placing gently fingers on Ezekiel and calming him with an influx of love as he messaged his feathers.

“Ezekiel means us no harm, he is quite harmless, he is a guardian. A messenger of the Metatron, even if his superiors are plotting something, Ezekiel himself is gentle. All guardians are. Do not use such a loud tone with them, it frightens him.”

The large human mumbled an apology and Ezekiel bristled in affection for Aziraphale, he had always admired the principality. He was much kinder than most in his position of power.

“How did you find us, little one?”

“Your prayers, my lord,” the guardian answered, “Our mother has sent me personally to find you. She wishes to speak on what is happening between you and the archangel Gabriel.”

Aziraphale thought on it a moment before telling the humans it would be in their best interest to do as the little guardian was tasked in doing. He asked him to lead the way and Ezekiel did with pleasure.

;

Just as Aziraphale began to explain to the guardian how public transportation works, Crowley awoke, and Madame Tracy would have to be the one to break it to him that he had been out for longer then he would have hoped.


	36. Gabriel's last stand

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: Rape

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Boy oh boy am I not super proud of how this turned out but I like the next parts, in fact I like parts of this chapter so I decided to stop stressing about the weak parts. They will be up tonight when I get home after a few quick revisions. 
> 
> Thank you my loves for all the support. I love you all. I will be answering reviews and praising you all with love soon.

Gabriel waited, keeping his eyes on the door, his Aziraphale would be here soon and he wanted to have one last go with his favorite toy before it was over. He glanced towards the Guardian who stayed close to Uriel, knowing they were the most neutral of the hot-blooded siblings.

Michael paced like a lion caged, claws out and ready to strike. They were angry at Gabriel for taking it this far and not using common sense, but they would never let their sibling down. They would never lose another as they lost Raphael.

“What will happen after our brother arrives?”

Uriel still trying to jump a few moves ahead, still holding onto hope they would not lose Gabriel. Gabriel, however, was not foolish, he knew he had lost. He had been warned and he knew his mother would know he and Sandalphon’s game. He wasn’t ready to be demoted, he wouldn’t allow himself to become a low level no one. The only chance he knew he had left was falling and taking Aziraphale with him. The only regret he would hold would be harming his siblings, but this would be for the best. If Aziraphale pointed fingers, who knows what she would do to his siblings for turning a blind eye to him playing with Her gift to them in a way she likely didn’t approve of. He never expected to get caught and now that he was, he just had to plan ahead in away to keep Uriel and Michael out of the crossfire. 

“We go see my master,” the Guardian answered fluttering to a higher bookshelf sensing the discomfort among the siblings and perceiving it as danger, “Then they will tell us all our mother’s ruling.”

;

Crowley hated how exhausted he was still; he had slept for a hundred years once and woke up feeling nothing short of refreshed. He felt what she had done to his soul, through open every trauma, every happy smile, every ounce of love he had only ever reserved for Aziraphale.

He drank his third cup of coffee the woman poured for him and lit his third cigarette; the crepes went untouched. He wrinkled his nose to them, they smelled strong and foul, like the batter was replaced with wine and coffee (things he normally liked but not like that). He limbs were tingly from disuse and he just took this time while the woman babbled on about the goings on of his angel to recuperate. Shadwell was incompetent but he would never harm Aziraphale, that much was certain, Crowley owned his soul. He would sense it if he did anything Crowley disproved of.

This woman could match his angel in roundabout stories that circled around the most minor of details before they got to the point. It was no stretch of logic why Aziraphale had imprinted on this mortal while SHE kept him under. He took a slow drink of his coffee, oh he would get her, he would smite her with Hellfire before this was all said and done.

“And that’s when the guardian arrived,” Crowley spit out his coffee at that simple statement.

“Heaven summoned Aziraphale??” he half yelled jumping from the bed despite madame Tracy’s complaints.

“Yes, but by the sound of it he isn’t…”

Crowley snapped his fingers and he was dressed, he ran out the door and out to the garage to the Bentley, Madame Tracy following him the entire way.

;

“Are ya sure we can just trust…”

Aziraphale cut Shadwell off, glancing over at Ezekiel who had splashed into a bird bath with wide eyes and practically begged Aziraphale to allow him to groom before they had to return. The angel sighed and shook his head sitting on the bench in the park they had cut through, in his hand he ripped up a biscuit he had purchased at a vendor that had caught the Guardian’s eye.

“Guardians aren’t too different from children in their own way, they are very isolated and not many are kind to them. I always considered my siblings were just frustrated, not hateful towards them, I always considered most became impatient with them like they did with me, they wanted us to learn. I’m not so sure about that anymore.”

Shadwell frowned towards the creature bathing and nestling its feathers in water, it seemed content enough. It flew back over to Aziraphale and landed on his shoulder after it magically dried itself. It had to be one of the fae folk, that could be the only explanation Shadwell found himself firmly thinking.

“Ezekiel, I got a biscuit for you, dear,” Aziraphale said to the affectionate dove nuzzling against him.

“I am not sure if my master would be ok with that, Lord Aziraphale,” he began but Aziraphale gently shushed him.

“Please just take my gift in gratitude for your services and being so patient with me love,” Aziraphale whispered gently running his fingers along the guardian’s feathers.

;

“Mistah Crowley! You just woke up!”

Crowley growled at the woman slowing him down, she had a firm grip on his arm and wasn’t about to let him go anywhere. Crowley could have if he wished, used any sort of miracle to bypass this woman but he sensed her love for his angel. He knew in his heart he owed this woman thanks and any transgression towards her would be hurting his angel. 

He snapped his fingers and the passenger door of the Bentley opened up making the woman gave him an odd look.

“Get in, we need to get to Aziraphale before heaven does.”

;

Maybe Aziraphale was stalling, he sighed, there was no maybe, not a perhaps in sight, he was and is stalling. He wasn’t scared of facing Gabriel, he had no word in his vast vocabulary for the utter terror twisting in his very essence. He didn’t want to hurt anymore, he realized all at once he never wanted to see Gabriel again.

Ezekiel, despite it being his one duty to bring Aziraphale to his destination, was patient as Aziraphale sat down at a bus stop. It was surprisingly Shadwell who had a problem with their lack of movement. He was snarling and grumbling to himself.

All Aziraphale could think of was the last time he had seen Gabriel and how foul his healing hand had been. It marked the last time he had hurt himself as well and just the thought had Aziraphale more on edge.

“Lord Aziraphale,” Ezekiel gasped making Aziraphale turn his head towards the Guardian, “Your corporation is leaking!” 

At first Aziraphale thought he was referring to the tears leaking from his eyes until he heard Shadwell’s cursing and felt him rudely grabbing his hand, pressing a rather nasty looking handkerchief on the freshly opened wound. The wound he had done to himself last he had seen Gabriel. 

“Oh Aziraphale,” Ezekiel moaned sadly jumping away from the other angel in shock as the onslaught of emotions hit him, “I don’t know if you should face Gabriel yet, please stay here and I will go talk to my sibling and we shall take this matter to our master!” 

Aziraphale tried to object but the little guardian was fast. With a flap of his wings, he soared off without another word leaving Aziraphale and Shadwell alone together.

Shadwell had yet to let go of Aziraphale’s bleeding hand and was staring at him with that suspicion he normally wore.

“My body just does it sometimes,” he says slowly, “I will think of an injury that Gabriel did and it will just reappear.”

“He curse ya?”

“No,” Aziraphale said with a shake of his head, “It isn’t Gabriel’s doing. I believe it is my own. I don’t know why it happens or how to stop it, but it is my own fault.”

“I don’t believe that nonsense, not a word of it,” Shadwell spat throwing Aziraphale’s hand aside as soon as he wrapped it, “This be ‘is doing and I may not like mistah Crowley, but after long thought I feel he was right when he came to me to end the coven leader. He’s a right bastard.”

“How did you get involved with Crowley?” 

The abrupt change of subject made Shadwell snarl and clench his teeth tightly to keep the curses to himself. Aziraphale began unwinding the sloppily done handkerchief while Shadwell stuttered a moment before beginning his tale.

“Me mentor worked for him and after he was sent away, he gave me the assignment from the bastard since he always pays well.” 

Aziraphale paused, staring down at his newly bleeding wound with a frown. He ran his finger over the wound and concentrated a moment. He summoned enough energy to heal the wound once more before handing over the filthy rag back to Shadwell who snatched it back with a snarl. 

“I’m almost afraid to ask—” 

“Ol’ Narker burned a witch alive like a true hunter.”

“That is precisely why I didn’t wish to ask, sergeant.” 

A slow moment passed between them, the silence settling uncomfortably between them. Shadwell had begun stomping his feet impatiently on the ground and Azirapahle had taken to watching the pidgeon across the sidewalk from them picking through the garbage. He wished he had something to give the poor dear, half eaten fast food hamburgers couldn’t be good for the bird. 

Aziraphale sighed turning away from the bird and instead focusing on Shadwell and the anger he felt building around the man. His aura could be mistaken for a demon, not a very strong demon but a type of wrath demon tasked with destruction. 

“And if I may ask, are you still angry at Crowley for forcing you into this situation?”

“Aye,” Shadwell said with a firm nod taking a puff from the cigarette, “But in a way it’s a good thing.”

“Oh?”

“Crowley may be a bastard but he ain’t a monster. I got in this business to slay monsters and I tend to do it if’n that coven leader tries anything again.” 

Aziraphale gave him a smile taking his hand and was surprised the man didn’t throw his hand away from him. 

“May I ask you something?” 

Shadwell snarled and grumbled, “Ya were gonna blather it any how.” 

“Do you plan on hurting my Crowley when this is done?” 

Shadwell thought on it, something Aziraphale knew he didn’t have much practice on. His head looked ready to burst any moment. 

“I don’t think I got reason to, he may be a demon but he can’t be so bad if he wants to protect you so badly he went through all this for you.” 

Aziraphale squeezed his hand tightly in thanks before dropping his hand and turning his attention back towards the nature around him. He needed to calm down before the guardian returned if he hoped on getting through this in one piece.

;

The original four archangels had all been created from the same star, rather like human quadruplets. While each of them were different in their own way, they were connected on a much deeper level then normal flock mates. They felt each other’s essences as they felt their own. With Raphael gone, they would forever feel fractured. 

Gabriel knew this pain, he felt it daily, this feeling that a part of them was missing. The lord had tried to ease that pain with Aziraphale, but how could he feel that void? He was not connected to them, not fully. He was a piece of another puzzle shoved haphazardly into their once complete puzzle. While Gabriel had found another use for Aziraphale to fill the emptiness, he would never fill the void as he was supposed to. 

Micheal felt it before Uriel, they had always been more attuned to the strong connection then the youngest member of their flock. They felt Gabriel’s thoughts, he wanted to go gracefully and in full control. If he were to fall, if he was to die, he wanted it on his own terms. He wanted to go out strong as he had always been. Micheal did not approve nor did they want it to happen like this but Gabriel wished to take Aziraphale with him and maybe they could respect that.

Michael gave Gabriel a look and slight tip of the head and a twist of the finger. It all looked like normal nervous actions when faced with a problem this severe and a sibling going to trial as Gabriel would be soon, but it was their signal.

Gabriel knew he wasn’t getting away with this and Michael deep in their very essence sensed this as well but neither wanted the heartbreak that came with watching a sibling burn and fall into the depth of hell. Uriel, easily the youngest and last formed of the archangels, had yet to recover from Raphael’s death. They would never survive watching Gabriel’s. Michael and Gabriel wished to spare them out of love. Gabriel nodded seeing the other guardian return without Aziraphale.

“Uriel, please return to our office, I shall meet you there,” Michael stated firmly and their sibling though they looked suspicious, did that returning through the circle.

Michael turned to return with their sibling, intent of protecting them the best they could.

The poor guardians didn’t know what hit them as the archangel Gabriel discorporated them as soon as his siblings were safe.

;

Time was a bit like the heartbeat of Earth, it kept everything alive and it kept it all moving smoothly. Crowley was rather good at putting his finger on the pulse of time, it was one of the first things he mastered as a demon, stopping and slowing time but never got a hang on rewinding or forwarding it. Never had a use for something like that either, sometimes all he needed was a pause to get a task done.

He wasn’t quite himself yet after the trauma SHE had wrought on his system, so he couldn’t for the life of him give himself the pause in time he needed to get to the book shop in time and for once it wasn’t something easily manipulated by the demon but something that governed over him like everyone else on this rock.

He gripped the steering wheel tighter and his teeth ground as construction slowed traffic. 

“Relax, love, we will be there soon and I promise nothing is wrong. Shadwell would never let harm come to---”

It wasn’t Crowley’s glare that cut the woman off, it was someone stopping the Earth’s heartbeat, shutting down its inner workings by stopping time. Only an archangel could do that, he cursed to himself and jumped out of the car, throwing his sunglasses off.

Every miracle left a trace, a miracle of this size left a large trail that would lead him to Gabriel and Crowley vowed he would murder him before he could touch his angel again.

;

“Hello Aziraphale.”

A chill travelled down the angel’s spine at the way his name was spoken, not like someone addressing a sentient being but how someone would address a lost pet they didn’t particularly take the best care of. Sickeningly condescending and a firm command with the name. He expected him to walk to him and go into his open arms like normal as if nothing had ever changed between them.

While Aziraphale began to shut down in his fear, Shadwell stepped between the two angels, immediately pulling the blade from the sheath.

“I ain’t gonna just stand ‘ere and allow ya to just harm this pansy again ya---”

With a snap from Gabriel the world stopped around them, it was an action Aziraphale had come to associate so strongly with Crowley he had almost forgotten how archangels had helped create time with Her assistance and how they could control it just as well, if not better, then the demons who could only manipulate this power.

Aziraphale had yet to rise from his spot on the bench and had taken to glancing off towards the bird next to him that attempted to take flight but was now frozen mid escape. He glanced towards the knife clasped in Shadwell’s frozen hands and had to look in dismay at Gabriel’s chest and watch him easily slip away from Shadwell towards Aziraphale who had never felt so small and vulnerable. He feared his fate, he regretted never seeing Crowley again before he had to accept this and he felt a sad longing for the promise of it all becoming better Ezekiel despite his low status, had tried to offer.

“I have been so worried for you,” Gabriel began making Aziraphale tense as he grabbed his chin and forced him to look into his eyes, “You disappeared on us, dear Aziraphale and you were so weak.”

Aziraphale wanted to snap at Gabriel for his role in his condition but the words were caught in his throat, trapped in his fear and anxieties. He prayed, prayed for something to happen other then what he knew would and he didn’t have the strength to fight it. 

“You did this to yourself with your,” the words turned into an angry sneer and his grip tightened on Aziraphale, “Sinful nature. I smell it on you, you smell of Brimstone and fire. Either you are falling already or you have allowed something sinful to touch you.”

Aziraphale finally found the strength to wiggle from the other angel’s grasp and throw himself away from him and quickly snatching the knife from Shadwell’s frozen hands before backing away.

“Don’t touch me, please, I will not harm you, but I cannot.” 

Gabriel smiled at him, maybe he wanted to be comforting but it was sinister revealing everyone of his true intentions, everything he had ever been. 

“You cannot?”

“I will not,” Aziraphale stated a boldness coming to him, “Ezekiel told me mother doesn’t approve of what you did. Please, Gabriel, just stop.”

“She may not be pleased with the way I handled things but it does not mean she is happy with you either, dear Aziraphale,” Gabriel snarled taking a step forward as Aziraphale took a step back, “Neither of us have to fall, my love, you must listen to me.”

“We can be together forever and I would cherish you as I always have Aziraphale. You would never find better and unlike I, you would never survive the fall. You think of my kindness as cruelty just imagine hell.”

“You would never know peace, little Aziraphale.” 

Aziraphale took a step back and Gabriel took another forward. 

“You are weak and you have always been vulnerable.” 

He didn’t trip, his legs just faltered, turning to jelly, unable to stand under the weight of his anxiety. Gabriel took advantage of this, not having to force him down, his touch was gentle as he pushed Aziraphale to the ground. He squatted above Aziraphale’s thighs and caressed his face forcing him to look him in the eyes. 

“They will chain you down and hurt you daily.” 

He brushed his fingers through his curls, feather light touch that matched his painted smile. 

“You call my touch cruel and savage when I was only doing everything through love, they will not let you feel comfort again. You shall never feel love or kindness like you felt with me, Aziraphale.” 

He gripped his hair tugging hard and his smile turning positively demonic as he pushed himself further down on Aziraphale. 

“Stop…”

“I am only telling you of your fate, little one, for if you think you can survive hell without breaking, you are mistaken, let me help you Aziraphale.”

Aziraphale was shaking so hard, it was easy for Gabriel to grab him and with a swoosh of his hand, it was easy for him to toss the blade aside. He easily pinned Aziraphale’s wrists above his head and with a snap they were both unclothed, naked in broad daylight with so many humans around to witness this sin. Shadwell was frozen mere feet from them unable to do anything to help as Gabriel bit into Aziraphale’s neck and began to bite hard into it, telling him he was nothing more than his property. It didn’t matter, nothing mattered, no one could save Aziraphale from this fate of becoming Gabriel’s toy.

He felt his penis hardening and rubbing against his lips, sinking down to rub against his clit and making Aziraphale squirm at the sensation, tears pricking his eyes, he was going to make this slow and humiliating as possible. His teeth broke into fresh as his knee violently kicked between Aziraphale’s thighs, widening his entrance as Aziraphale had attempted to squeeze himself shut.

Aziraphale couldn’t take this, not again, he was crying and begging and it only seemed to arouse Gabriel more.

Then just Aziraphale squeezed his eyes shut to accept his fate, the weight was yanked off him.

“Do not touch him!”

Crowley firmly held Gabriel’s shoulder yanking him away from Aziraphale and tossing him to the ground. Gabriel was in enough shock at the interruption he couldn’t block the first punch nor the second.

Crowley wasn't going to allow Gabriel to harm Azirapahle ever again, he felt his scales breaking free from his skin and his fangs springing forth as Gabriel's wings popped out in his own anger. Crowley could only think of all the pain his angel had been in as he shifted into a giant snake and Gabriel attempted to snatch him as he slithered around him and bit him deep his throat, spilling gold red blood making the angel scream in anger. He grabbed Crowley by the throat and threw him to the ground.

Aziraphale picked up the knife as Gabriel descended on Crowley from where he had thrown him and before he could touch him, touch his poor demon, he thrust the knife into his spine. Making him scream out in pain, crippling the angel even in true form with another thrust of the demonic weapon.

Aziraphale rushed to Crowley’s side as he lay stunned at what had just occurred and grabbed his hand begging him to get up as he shifted back into his human form, shaking off his shock. Crowley did just that and with a snap Aziraphale was dressed and time had restarted.

; 

“---Bastard!”

Shadwell finally managed to get out as time restarted itself with a flurr of motion, leaving him staring confused at the crippled and naked archangel now at his feet and Crowley cradling Aziraphale on his left.

“We need to go,” Crowley stated holding Aziraphale close as he had trouble moving, “We need to go before his siblings catch up to us or Heaven decides to act on us doing that to him.”

“What the blasted---”

Aziraphale cut Shadwell off with a gentle shake of his head.

“Not now, sergeant, I advise you to just come with us instead of staying to see the repercussions of this.” 

Shadwell snarled walking over to Gabriel and yanking his knife from his spine, never knowing when he would need it again and sheathing it once more.


	37. Wind Down

None of them spoke as Crowley drove, none of them having any idea where Crowley was taking them, not even Crowley. He got on the M25 and got off near Oxford and just kept going from there. The countryside was passing by in a blur as Crowley kept speeding up, passing several lorries that loudly honked at him. Shadwell looked as ill as Aziraphale normally felt as the car jostled about and tossed its occupants about.

Tracy for her part seemed to be rather enjoying the ride, the only one who felt that way.

Aziraphale glanced at him, his poor face, it was bruised and swollen, he hadn’t realized he had rested his hand on the bruise until he felt Crowley’s hand resting on top of his rested there. Crowley took it tightly into his own and began tracing over his knuckles. He gave his hand a gentle kiss, a silent confirmation he was fine, before returning the hand to Aziraphale’s lap. He patted it gently promising they would talk things through later before returning his hand to the wheel. For once, intent on focusing on driving them safely wherever he was taking them.

It was Shadwell, who seemed to be overcoming his shock at last, who finally broke the silence. 

“Well? Are you damn well planning on telling us what we are to do next?!”

“No,” Crowley snarled taking Aziraphale’s hand again sensing his discomfort instantly, “Just keep yer stupid mouth shut, sergeant, and sit there.”

To everyone’s shock, Shadwell did just that. He even seemed shocked by his own actions and stared at Crowley in horror. Madame Tracy, the sensible woman she was, decided to not bring up the supernatural events just yet and decided to only focus on now.

“Crowley, love, where are we intending on going? Not that I don’t enjoy the ride, of course.”

Crowley grunted at that for a response, Aziraphale sighed deciding to try his best at translating.

“I don’t believe he knows,” he said giving Crowley a firm look as he added, “But I do not intend to be in this death machine on wheels for longer than an hour without a destination in mind.”

“We don’t have anywhere to go,” Crowley sneered but kept his eyes on the road keeping the anger to himself and not turning it on Aziraphale, “We don’t know how long we have until Heaven comes, until Hell joins them and we are all fucked.”

“The sign back there said there is an inn coming up, why not stop there for the night then, eh?” Tracy asked butting in once more putting her hand on Crowley’s shoulder and pointing towards the next road sign that announced the inn she had referred to.

“That sounds lovely,” Aziraphale said with a little sigh of thanks, “We can all recuperate after all that business.”

Crowley looked like he wanted to scream and break things at their attitude towards the entire event. All four of them had almost been demolished by an archangel, Aziraphale had nearly been sexually assaulted moments before Crowley got there, the shop was in need of more than just ‘slight repairs’ as Aziraphale had put it and they were acting like they were just going to court in the morning for a speeding ticket. A could be worse situation, something to just sleep off. Crowley wanted to grab them all firmly by the shoulders and scream at them until they all comprehended how not fine it was.

Crowley slammed his foot hard on the break, making everyone lunge forward, Aziraphale cried out as he smashed into the dashboard.

“This is not a holiday!” he finally bellowed turning around to take his anger out on the humans, “Neither of you have the right to talk! Shut your mouths and just enjoy the fact I didn’t leave you to deal with the aftermath of pissing off Heaven!”

Aziraphale felt tears misting his eyes at how Crowley was acting after that, the last thing they needed was him to act like this.

“I can’t deal with this,” Aziraphale hissed attempting to open the passenger door but it instantly locked when he tried to open the door.

“Angel, there is nowhere to go!” Crowley snapped pounded his fist against the steering wheel making everyone jump.

“See here!” Tracy snapped instantly butted in seeing Aziraphale cringing against the door at the sudden anger, “We all need to get our tempers under control! Now is not the time to get so big headed!”

“Butt out! You are not apart of this!” Crowley spat leaning over the seat to give the humans a murderous glare.

“I have been apart of this since you decided it was in the best course of action to get Shadwell involved!”

She spat Shadwell’s name like an insult but immediately seemed to take it back giving the glowering man beside her a short-lived smile. 

“Not that he isn’t a likable fellow,” she added in at the offensive that was taken by the man sitting next to her.

“But my point stands, I wouldn’t be here at the moment if’n ya could handle the situation!”

“I was handling it poorly???!” Crowley bellowed scales popping across his skin and tongue forking making every syllable a hiss. His spine looked ready to snap due to the unnatural angle he bent to properly spit his figurative venom at the humans, more snake like then demon or man now.

“I was and have always been, the only one who cares! You have no idea what has been going on!”

“You being the only one caring is frightening Aziraphale after that traumatic experience, love,” Tracy huffed folding her arms angrily and throwing her entire body weight into the back of the seat making a loud thud.

Crowley sneered towards her but said nothing turning towards his angel, shivering in fear in the seat next to him. He put the car in drive and decided to let their destination be the Inn. He could hope to someone it was the right decision.

;

The Inn was a cottage owned by a grandmotherly old woman all by herself in the countryside. It was some kind of cliché Crowley considered as he paid in advance to the woman, little old woman with her thick dress and shawl, little glasses hanging from her nose, in a doll like house room for at least five grandkids she didn’t seem to have. He didn’t sense heaven and he didn’t sense hell, so she was human, and that’s all Crowley cared about.

He froze time a moment as he carried Aziraphale in and up to their room, he let the humans sort themselves out once he locked up.

“Angel,” he said sitting on the edge of the frilly pink bed, “I’m sorry.”

He felt Aziraphale’s hand fall on top of his own and squeeze gently.

“I don’t feel well, Crowley,” he mumbled finally clinging tightly to Crowley, “I shouldn’t have done that. It was wrong of me; I didn’t handle it well at all—”

“He did worse to you then just a stab wound, angel,” Crowley said tightening his hold on Aziraphale’s hand.

“It wasn’t called for! I was on my way to a meeting with the Metatron and what I did will not be tolerated—”

“If’n they come near you; I will end them.”

“Oh Crowley,” Aziraphale sighed but seemed too exhausted to really argue with the demon, “Please just don’t leave me alone again. That’s all I ask.”

“Never again, Angel.” 

Aziraphale buried his head into Crowely’s chest and let himself cry. He let out the pain he had tried to bury, he begged Crowley to tell him what to do and tell him the answers. Crowely didn’t have those answers, only soothing words as Aziraphale finally drifted off into an uneasy slumber. 

;

There were gentle fingers raking his hair out, touch so light it might as well have been a warm summer breeze bristling as he lay in the cool grasps of shade. He had a faint smile on his lips for the first time in a year, a few lines of poetry from TS Elliot lazily wafting through his mind, a soothing aftertaste of chocolate on his tongue, laying contempt and safe knowing his mother was finally here. 

“Hello, Aziraphale.”

Aziraphale couldn’t bring himself to open his eyes just yet, he bunched his fingers in the cloth that felt of clouds and freshly shaven wool. The first sign of spring and newly printed books and just a touch of cinnamon tickled his nose making him smile. She was all things safe and wonderful about life and oh so much more.

“You need not look upon me if you do not wish to, you may rest my darling.”

“Mother.”

It wasn’t a question, it was a simple fact for Aziraphale, no one could make him feel as safe as his mother. Tears began to fall, it all felt over all at once, it felt like he would never see another bad day, nothing bad could happen when mother was here.

“I wish I could give you an ineffable, explainable reason for my absence my love, but I cannot, and I hope you can forgive me for your prolonged suffering.”

Aziraphale finally opened his eyes and raised his head from his mother’s lap, she had no true form just a weave of stars but the more he focused the more she became more human like. Or it should be said more demon like. What was once an indescribable and breathtaking stretch of cosmos was now Crowley sitting next to him in the Garden where it had all begun. His hair long but there was the subtle twinkling of stars sparkling from each strand.

“Your heart calls for the demon,” She chuckled smoothing long fingers over the black robe and fluttering black wings that looked more like black holes with muted stars dying in its vortex.

“I shall not keep you long my darling, you are his from this moment on. You were created to fill the void of sorrow in your siblings hearts, made from the final drops of essence from their lost sibling but they did not respect you, a beautiful gift anyone should cherish. So I am taking you from them my child and instead gifting you to the demon who I wronged and task you with healing his heart.”

Aziraphale stared awestruck to his mother as she chuckled and ran spindling fingers across his face in the loving way only a mother would.

“And if he fails to cherish you, if he cannot heal your heart in return, I wish for you to return to me. Become part of me once more where you will never know suffering or pain again.”

“What of Heaven?” Aziraphale whispered a new fear filling him of what became of traitors, “Am I to fall to be with Crowley?”

“No my darling, that fait shall not befall one as pure as you,” she responded with no room for questions, “But I am afraid you cannot return to my kingdom again either unless you are to return to me and never see your demon again.”

“I don’t think I can exist without!”

“There are downsides to being without heaven,” she explained, “You must give me your wings in trade for this freedom from being part of my divine army. And with the loss of your wings, your powers shall be limited. You shall not be mortal and you will never have to truly live as the mortals do but you will not be ethereal anymore either. You will need to power your corporation in different ways and your demon must always protect and take care of you for you will never be as strong as you were. Do you wish to take this offer?”

“I do.”

Aziraphale stared into familiar serpent eyes, so similar to the ones he loved and so different. There was a vastness in Her eyes, a frown that knew something but didn’t want to trouble him with details. She sighed kissing Aziraphale’s curls in a loving way and nodding.

“Very well, before you are to be returned to your demon to protect and cherish as you deserve my love, we must discuss what is to be done with those who harmed you against my wishes.”

“I was never going to fall was I?”

“No, my love, it was an insidious lie your sibling made up.”

“What became of Gabriel?”

Aziraphale wanted desperately to distance himself from this truth he had always known, he wanted to bury the fact that someone who loved him would hurt him so. Instead, he did as he normally did and showed compassion even for someone who hurt him.

“Your brother is injured but not as grievously as you fear, my child. His sibling healed most of the damage but I am afraid his essence was damaged as yours is damaged. It takes time to repair.” 

Aziraphale frowned not truly wanting to know anymore about his sibling but just desperately wondering if it was over and how it would end.

“Will he fall, Mother?”

His mother pursed Crowley’s lips thoughtfully and shrugged before running her fingers through his curls once more as he settled his head on her lap.

“If you wish for that to happen.”

“I don’t want him to.”

“Then what do you want to happen to the one who hurt you?”

“I want him to learn empathy. I want him to be lesser and learn what it feels like to be helpless. I want him to become one of the Metatron’s Guardians and for you to promote one in his stead.”

“Very well my love. Remember all I have told you and return to your demon in peace.”

Crowley was woken by Aziraphale’s hard shakes, he instantly jumped up expecting the worst seeing his angel crying. He opened his mouth, feeling the anger boiling deep down, but the demands of who hurt him never came as Aziraphale threw himself into his embrace. He sobbed loudly and clung tightly to the demon who was stiff in fear and confusion.

“Oh Crowley, She came to me, its over, my love, its over!”

;

Aziraphale had invited Tracy to go on a walk with him through the meadow outside the cottage and it wasn’t her approval that was surprising, it was that Crowley had allotted them a few moments of privacy to talk among themselves.

There was a lovely stream they ended up settling by, talking about this and that, magic tricks and favorite places to get tea when the conversation finally landed on the problems of the here and now.

“So, the business with your siblings is done with, isn’t it?”

Aziraphale hummed, a bit of awkwardness surrounding the topic. He spotted some river lilies and began to absently pick them before taking them back to rock to sit on to weave them while overlooking the stream, watching the animals begin to gather.

“Gabriel will never hurt me again,” he said watching Tracy pick up a flat stone, weighing it in her hands a moment before skipping it across the narrow stream.

“He was punished, wasn’t he?”

“He was,” Aziraphale confirmed halfway through his crown as the silence set in and a chorus of birds began to soothingly fill in the discomfort.

“Well whatever came to him wasn’t good enough, he deserved worse.”

Aziraphale chuckled finishing his crown and setting it down on her glowing red hair.

“I just would like to thank you, madame,” he said awkwardly fidgeting his hands as her face lit up looking at her reflection in the water admiring Aziraphale’s work.

“I don’t think I could have made it through the last year without—”

He was cut off by Madame Tracy throwing herself around him and tugging him close, clinging to him lovingly. No more words were needed, like Shadwell and Crowley, they almost had their own bond now. Not quite one of ownership but one of strong platonic love. 

; 

A month later, Aziraphale was feeling well enough to move back into his book shop. 

Crowley, the darling demon he was, had yet to leave his side and was there the entire way. Helping him settle back into his normal routine. 

It was a warm day mid summer, Crowley was napping in his snake form in front of window amusingly on a front display helping keeping customers from attempting to touch books when the doorbell announced someone was brave enough to enter. It wasn’t human nor demon and it had Crowley snapping from his slumber to hiss at the heavenly essence that entered. 

It wasn’t an angel Aziraphale was familiar with, he stayed his distance, not moving from the register almost prepared to allow Crowley handle it if it was someone here to defy the lord herself. 

The angel didn’t seem to mean them harm though, he had a large smile on his face and he waved his hand like someone not used to a human corporation. He had dark skin and pale blonde hair and a rich purple suit with a light purple ruffle shirt under the blazer. 

“Aziraphale!” the stranger called happily, “It’s me! Ezekial!” 

Crowley had turned back into his human form and was giving the nervous angel a once over as he tried to keep his smile up. Aziraphale chuckled, he didn’t quite trust demons and it wasn’t in there nature to, but Crowley was different. He had Her protection now. 

“You’ve come a long way since the little bird who almost drowned, kid.” 

Ezekiel ruffled his arms like he would wings, making Aziraphale smile brighter, it reminded him of the chicken dance he had seen on the telly. 

“Ah yes, I wasn’t used to my corporation yet, I didn’t realize it couldn’t float on water…” 

“Crowley,” Aziraphale tried to be cross with the demon for picking on the other angel but he couldn’t keep his smile from his face. 

“Ezekial, would you like tea, love?” 

The other angel bristled with excitement at the prospect and eagerly followed Aziraphale to the kitchen. Crowley, knowing there was no danger here, slipped back into his previous position on the book display and fell easily back into a doze. 

“How is being an archangel treating you love?” 

Ezekial bristled with excitement apun being asked and went into an animated explanation of what heaven was like. How things had changed so positively for him and how awful they were now for Gabriel. 

“He can’t even get simple tasks done! He has been chastised by the Metatron more then once!” 

“Have you told your demon about your wings?” 

Aziraphale bit his lip and that was sadly the only explanation needed, the other angel could feel the discomfort and knew Azirapahle hadn’t and likely wouldn’t until he felt ready. He placed his hand comfortingly on his fellow angel’s hand and changed the subject. 

;

Six months had come and passed, trickling down to the end of the decade, Aziraphale and Crowley found themselves in their favorite spot in St James Park bundled up together silently counting down the remaining seconds of the 1970s ready to start a new decade fresh.

“I quite liked your mustache, dear, you didn’t need to get rid of it,” Aziraphale said disapprovingly as the year 1980 hit and Crowley had changed his hair once more for the decade at the stroke of the clock. With another snap, his clothes ready for the disco melted away and became a studded leather jacket, tight leather pants and a ripped white t-shirt that barely seemed to cover his chest.

“I was getting sick of it, wanted to start a trend of long hair again and something more demonic,” he said with a shrug and Aziraphale couldn’t argue his hair looked very nice. It was like a large puffy cloud of red, Aziraphale didn’t dare touch it though despite its inviting softness.

“No facial hair at all then my love?” he asked with a little pout, he had gotten so used to the hair over Crowley’s upper lip his beloved almost looked naked without it.

“New decade, new me,” Crowley said with a simple shrug pulling Aziraphale closer to him and playfully taking his hand in his own and guiding his fingers to his new hair and mimicking the hand to pet the large fluffy locks, his hair was fluffer then it had ever been. Aziraphale clumped his fingers in and it felt like grasping cotton. He giggled to the comparison, if cotton had been sprayed down with excessive hair products.

“If I want a trend to catch, I can’t make it seem like its my natural hair,” Crowley scoffed at Aziraphale’s questioning gaze.

“What of my hair?” Aziraphale asked with a gentle giggle, “Should I do the same to help the trend catch?”

Crowley gave him an odd look and shook his head, “You, my love, are perfection, and I never want you to feel you have to do anything. If you ever feel you must do something, tell me and I will punch the arse who is trying to force you into the mold.”

Aziraphale thought on it a moment before raising his hand up and snapping his fingers, his hair didn’t grow much, just shoulder length and his fluffy curls became just a bit fluffier. He glanced down at his pale white sweater and with a snap it became a bright neon pink with hearts scattered across it in his tartan, his once khaki trousers becoming his tartan as well. It was gaudy and something Heaven would have never approved of him wearing but it felt like him. He brushed his fingers over the sweater with a pleased smile and Crowley placed a gentle kiss on his head.

“New decade, new style, new us,” he said and Aziraphale smiled brighter leaning into Crowley. It was what they both needed, just a bit of change.

“New side,” Aziraphale added cuddling into him, Crowley held him tighter as the fire works began to explode over the park, the humans had yet to notice them let alone the changes they had made.

“Same bastards,” Crowley finished as they wrung in the new year together for once and finally safe.


	38. Epilogue - 2007-

Crowley never thought he would see the day Aziraphale willingly moved from Soho. He had nestled himself into a nice little rut there over the years, he was content, and he had always liked the community. While he was never a fan of the customers, Crowley knew he loved running his bookshop.

It had to change though, Aziraphale needed change. He needed to be somewhere safe where the memories couldn’t hurt him, where if Heaven wanted to go against higher orders, they wouldn’t find him.

It had to change after that night in 1989, Aziraphale in his delirium from nightmares and pain had mutilated his own arm. Crowley often found himself unable to sleep haunted by the very thought of what may have happened if he hadn’t come over just in time to find him bleeding in his bathroom. If he hadn’t come just in time to calm him down enough to give him the knife willingly.

He may not have wanted to leave London knowing Crowley couldn’t leave the city yet, but he had to. It was for the best. Crowley would have forced him to leave if he had to, he needed to be somewhere quiet and somewhere full of love to heal properly and the city wasn’t a place to heal.

They decided on a village near Oxford together, a quaint little place with a strong sense of community and love, guarded by thick forests and plenty of farmland. It was disheartening Crowley himself couldn’t stay permanently, he was a servant of hell who was needed in London unfortunately.

It was an hour and a half drive, time meant nothing to an immortal who didn’t obey the laws of nature or the traffic legislations, though.

Crowley pulled up in the driveway, pleased with himself picking out just the right chocolates from the little store his angel fancied and tried his best to keep the skip from his step as he approached the door (he was a demon for someone’s sake, he should never appear this happy).

Crowley had helped him pick this place out and move in back in ’95, a nice sizable two-story cottage for all the books and knickknacks cluttering his shop. Large yard, an acre and a half, filled with life Crowley had helped plant. Little picturesque white fence in front and lots of lawn gnomes Crowley personally hated but felt too much like Aziraphale for him to hate too much. He did, however, encourage the neighborhood kids to steal them whenever he could though.

Aziraphale was sitting on his little porch swing, head stuck in a novel by Sir Terry Prattchet for his book club no doubt. Crowley didn’t bother him; he sat down next to him and stretched his arm across the back and rested his hand on fluffy curls.

“Hello darling,” Aziraphale finally said acknowledging Crowley and placing a kiss on his cheek, setting his book down on the table next to the swing.

“Little book club hasn’t burned itself to the ground yet?” 

“It has made attempts to do so,” Aziraphale grumbled leaning against Crowley and letting him pet his hair, “Deidre is trying to turn it into a parenting group or some such nonsense, barely discussing the themes of literature and trying to make it all about her impending motherhood.” 

“Her marriage with Arthur didn’t go pear side yet?”

Aziraphale chuckled, nuzzling his head against Crowley’s chest, “The Youngs have a perfectly lovely marriage and are beautiful people, really, but our book club is about the written word and I shall not have it be about preposterous ideas of home birth! Birthing a child in her own bathtub! Really! Why not go back to just living in hovels around your lord’s castle and not bathing if you are going to be so medieval?!”

“Mortals,” Crowley snorted, “No matter how far they advance, how much medical procedure grows, they will always want to go back to doing things the messy and primitive way.” 

They did that awhile, talking about this and that, arguing about politics and who did what when in history, it felt familiar. Crowley nearly forgot the chocolates sitting by his leg, half melted in the warm summer heat. When he gave them to Aziraphale, he glowed, positively blinded Crowley with a divine glow to show his utter happiness and appreciation of the token of affection.

;

Aziraphale prepared a nice little meal, perfectly cooked roast, boiled potatoes seasoned just right, a lovely choice of red wine, and a strawberry upside-down cake. He was particularly pleased with it; it was the strawberries from Crowley’s garden. Crowley was more then impressed that he could still taste the fear he put into the strawberries with each bite, he had never done so before, but he asked for seconds.

They ended the evening in the living room, homely and pleasant with the well loved and worn furniture from Aziraphale’s shop. It wasn’t modern or fashionable, but Crowley loved it all the same. It was almost like an older woman’s home with the doilies everywhere, yarn baskets, shelves of knickknacks and priceless books crowding every inch and out of touch ‘70s model TV at the front of the room. It was very Aziraphale and it felt warm and inviting.

Aziraphale sat in his reading chair, crocheting another baby sweater for Deidre, Crowley lounging against the couch looking out of place. A rock star in a little old woman’s living room and a scholarly man sitting by him. He smiled, it felt just unfit enough to fit and it felt like home.

Crowley switched the TV off when the news ended, and he got to see his story make headlines about taking down the phoneline and the chaos that erupted from it. He felt a bit of pride from the action, some of his best work and he instantly turned to Aziraphale for praise. The angel, however, didn’t do just that as he normally would, making Crowley frown.

“I knew you were excited about the idea of tying up the phone lines,” Aziraphale began idly putting the half complete jumper down and putting the sheers away, “I wanted to do something a little different to celebrate with you but now I’m a little nervous about it.”

“To hell with it then,” Crowley said popping his back as he stood and offered his hand to Aziraphale, “Gonna head to bed, come with me, yeah?”

“Alright then,” he mumbled taking Crowley’s hand and letting him pull him up with him.

;

Crowley sat on top of the covers fiddling with his cell phone, he was going for his next high score on Snake, he really shouldn’t have invented these blasted mobile games, they were even tempting him now.

He heard the water running in the bathroom, his angel always bathed before getting into bed. It was just one of those things. Crowley once made an off-hand remark about him using the hot water up and he found he didn’t like the response. It was one of those responses that made him want the war to start so he could burn heaven to the ground; Aziraphale never felt clean. He wanted to be clean before Crowley touched him.

He had snapped himself into just a pair of boxers and an under shirt, he felt too hot for the usual flannel he wore. He had once spent summers like this in bed in nothing but the skin of his corporal form but that didn’t seem appropriate with Aziraphale. All things took time and if it took Aziraphale six thousand years to feel safe again touching his bare skin as he had once done, then Crowley would wait. Time meant nothing to him after all.

He tossed his Nokia phone aside as Aziraphale finally emerged from the master bathroom. The thick stream that flowed out from the hot shower just made the image of Aziraphale in the lingerie he stepped out in more surreal. 

“Angel…” he gasped out and somehow the nickname never felt more on point as it did now.

Aziraphale was nothing but nerves and innocent blushes standing in front of him cutely doing a little spin to give him a better view.

Silky transparent pink cloth robe clung to his lovely fat stomach and thighs, jiggling in a way that instantly made Crowley’s penis effort itself into reality. The fabric was glittery making Aziraphale’s body sparkle like the stars themselves, pink transparent panties to match the robe underneath a large fluffy pink bow keeping the outfit together.

“Do you like it? Madame Tracy thought you would, and I thought it was lovely when I saw it in the window.”

Crowley wrinkled his nose at the mention of Tracy, of course it would be her who was filling his angel’s mind with rushing into things when he wasn’t ready. She always wanted him to be open about his abuse instead of leaving things be and gave him those bloody books about exploring himself. Crowley was fine with that but Aziraphale wasn’t ready, kissing wasn’t on the table yet, he asked Crowley for it and every time it ended in tears. A hundred years of constant abuse from someone he trusted wasn’t going to clear up overnight and twenty years was basically overnight for immortal souls.

“Dove, do you want this? Or do your books and Tracy say you need to try this?”

He didn’t seem sure as he sat on the bed next to Crowley, a thoughtful look on his face.

“It was so long ago,” he almost mumbled in despair, frustrated he hadn’t bounced away as he would have liked.

“It wasn’t,” Crowley mumbled sitting up and comfortingly running his fingers through the pale curls (he noted they were also loaded down on the glitter he went overboard with), “Time is different for us, dove. It means nothing. Mortals must get over things quick, but we don’t. We have all eternity to do this.”

“I want to do this though!” Aziraphale snapped, there wasn’t any frustration for Crowley, though it was at himself, “I fantasize about it when I…”

He flushed deeper and Crowley provided the word for him before the rambling explanation could start.

“Masturbate?”

Aziraphale, if possible, became pinker and sheepishly nodded. Crowley wrapped his hands around his waste and kissed his neck.

“I’d give you the world, angel, you know that, but you haven’t exactly expressed interest before.”

Aziraphale nodded a downcast look on his face.

“I was afraid you would say no…”

“Not ‘cause I don’t want this,” he said glancing longingly down at Aziraphale’s tempting and beautiful rolls glittering in the lamp light, “I would never hurt you, angel.” 

Aziraphale looked like all his dreams had been shattered, he gathered the nerve for not, nothing would occur it seemed. Crowley wasn’t entirely convinced he was ready. They had tried once before and didn’t get passed the kissing before it became too much, that was in ’99, not a very long time for beings who couldn’t die.

“I’m truly happy you are exploring things on your own,” Crowley said tightening his arms around his angel’s soft middle, soaking in how perfect he was to hold, “I mean it, I think it's great, angel.”

“You think I am rushing myself,” Aziraphale mumbled finishing Crowley’s thought before he could ramble on for an hour or two.

“He raped you for over a hundred years,” Crowley mumbled, it was always going to be hard, it was always going to be a challenge, but Crowley had seen too much of the bad after almost twenty years of finding out what Gabriel did. He didn’t want to see anymore relapses from his angel hurting himself by going too fast.

They stayed like that in silence for a moment, before Crowley sighed, he hated seeing Aziraphale so down hearted. He held him tighter, trying his best to convey his love, all the love a demon like he could give. He nearly toppled them both off the side of the bed at Aziraphale’s little suggestion.

“Can I tell you my fantasies? Let you watch as I explore myself?”

Crowley supposed it wasn’t imposing if Aziraphale wanted to do this, it wasn’t pushing if he wasn’t touching and getting more of a view into what Aziraphale would want if they went farther. A slow pace in their sex life, that was fine for Crowley, he would rather dive in Holy Water then hurt the only thing in his life that meant a damn thing to him. 

Aziraphale rummaged in the night stand next to the bed a moment before returning with a long and slick pink dildo. Crowley noticed a slight sheen on it but it didn’t look like enough lube for him, he didn’t want to see his angel cringe at all. He snapped and the lube was in his hand, he pulled Aziraphale to rest in his lap once more and cherished the blush as Crowley smeared it on the device, it wasn’t just a shimmer any longer but oozing on the wand. 

“You worry wart,” Aziraphale mumbled with a loving sigh kissing Crowley on the cheek. 

“Might I tempt you into removing my panties at least?” 

Crowley rolled his eyes at the large baby blue eyes boring into him, he stuck one finger into the undergarments and Aziraphale wiggled in excitement helping ease the panties off down his hips. Temptation accomplished went unsaid but Crowley knew they were nestled in the angel’s lovely thoughts. 

“Please hold this my love,” his angel purred helping the demon firmly yet delicately grip the base of the toy. Crowley just stared at the effort of choice. 

“I really don’t think it’s that bad of an effort,” Aziraphale whispered fingering his cunt a moment getting it nice and wet making Crowley sweat a little, “I hate it being connected to something ugly. I don’t want to be connected to anything ugly anymore Crowley.” 

“You could never be ugly, angel,” Crowley whispered using his other hand to pick up one of the angel’s wrists and place a gentle kiss upon an old scar. 

“Please Crowley, tell me I’m beautiful while I ride that,” his mischievous eyes fell on the phallic object in Crowley’s hands and he couldn’t exactly tell him no. 

“Everything beautiful about you?” Crowley chuckled as his angel seated himself comfortably on his toy grasped between strong fingers. 

“Do you plan on riding out an orgasm for days? For weeks? For months even as I count every single way you are beautiful?” 

“Crowley,” Aziraphale giggled riding faster and was tickled amused to see Crowely using his hand to thrust the toy, twirling it playfully on just the right spot and holding his love there a moment. 

“I would start with your eyes that outshine stars,” he placed a kiss on each fluttering lash as he picked up speed with the toy. 

“I can never tire of such a full and comfortable belly,” he used his free hand to tickle Aziraphale as he hissed out a moan as his fingers began running across his clit with each gentle thrust of the toy. 

“Hair softer then each cloud in Heaven, skin savory as the finest sweet, and these are just physical parts of my angel’s beauty.” 

Aziraphale felt overwhelmed kissing Crowley as he came, both giggling as they fell back onto each other and Crowley attempted true poetry that would match even Shakespear as he described in detail how he loved every inner working of his angel. 

;

Aziraphale laid against Crowley in the bathtub, neither exactly spent but Crowley knew it would be pushing to ask for more. Aziraphale had given him quite the fantasy but he wasn’t ready to give it to him fully yet. Maybe he was afraid himself, he didn’t want to accidentally become Gabriel just because Aziraphale would never deny him anything either.

He slouched back and spread his legs out further, pulling Aziraphale to rest more comfortably against his chest in the average sized tub that didn’t fit grown men very comfortably. They could have expanded it with a snap, but there was something warm and intimate about being so close to each other in a confined space.

“I love you,” Aziraphale mumbled entwining his stubby fingers into Crowley’s spindly ones.

“I know,” Crowley mumbled kissing Aziraphale’s curls and tightening his grip on his angel’s hand, “I love you my angel and I vow to keep my promise to Her to cherish even after the end of all time.”

Not exactly the ideal romantic setting, but it fit their un-idealistic relationship.


End file.
